


forever young

by sunlight_wings



Category: Emerson Lake & Palmer (Band), Pink Floyd
Genre: Gen, Why Did I Write This?, Why Does This Exist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 07:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18655909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunlight_wings/pseuds/sunlight_wings
Summary: Not 1967, but 1987. Syd is approached by a certain David Gilmour's organization, seeking new recruits and having heard of his prowess at escaping the police. After accepting his offer in search of a better life, Syd and his three homies leave everything behind for some Miami glory. Will they ride the cocaine cowboy lifestyle with a yeehaw, or fall victim to Jimi Hendrix's rival gang and the watchful eyes of the Metro police?





	1. Hell Begins

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally written on wattpad but wattpad is kinda like... not optimal, srry wattpad, but y'know this story ain't optimal either so we good

The last few gleams of sunlight came pouring into the dark alley. Puffing out smoke, Rick checked his watch, leaning against the brick wall like the edgelord he wasn't. The skyline was painted with warm hues of pink and orange at this time of day, and in an hour, he'd be back home. Suspicious rustling came from the line of trash cans and dumpsters further away.

The heavy door creaked open and what really looked like the guy from Papa Louie glared at him.  
"Hey, Ricardo! Customers are waiting!"

"It's Richard," the cheaply-paid waiter corrected.

"Whatever, everyone forgets you anyway."

Rick stayed silent and gave the camera a The Office-tier glance. What did he have to gain from arguing with a man who felt personally attacked by a 2-nanosecond-long break.

Syd came sprinting into the alley, grabbing Rick's matching red-striped shirt and pulling him off the wall, seemingly in a hell of a panic. Sweat dripped from the young man's wonderful pornstache.

"They're coming! They'll get us! Follow me!"

Before Rick could muster a response, Syd was already racing away, wailing sirens and footfalls growing louder and nearer. Rick realized what was going on.  
 _'Ah shit, here we go again.'_

He took off after his coworker, who was halfway up the metal fence at the end of the alley. He climbed on a dumpster and kicked down some trashcans to make it a bit harder for the blue swine. Syd jumped off with the grace of a Siamese cat. Rick was about to follow suit, but his suit betrayed him and his collar stayed caught against one of the metal spikes on top of the fence.

"Get the car!" he yelled, tugging at his neck.

Trusting Rick to escape the cops' grasp alone, Syd kept running and took a few sharp turns through the maze of alleys until he ran out into a small empty street.  
Skidding to a halt next to Roger's mum's car which he had kindly borrowed the day before, an old Buick - you know the one - he searched his many pockets for the keys.  
Getting in and slamming the door shut, he shoved the key in the ignition. Frantically turned it. The car cranked in agony. He prayed to the psychedelic gods above.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh shit, oh fuck," Rick muttered as soon as he jumped in, uncharacteristic of his normal half-politeness.

He rolled down the window at lightning speed and stuck his head out to watch for the cops.  
Syd didn't give up. The engine started. Bonnie Tyler's "Holding Out for a Hero" blasted from the speakers.

The tires screeched and the engine roared before Syd took off, heading into the bustling streets of the evening city.

"What did- what did you do this time?" Rick asked rather curtly, trying to catch his breath.

"Well-"

Cars around them honked loudly as Syd passed a yellow light about a millisecond before it turned red. He swerved to avoid crashing into a Camaro, speeding into a random lane like this was GTA V or something.  
Rick stopped clenching the door and exhaled about twice the lung capacity a normal person had; probably a side effect of incessant sighing.

"Jesus, you've gotten us fired again. What will Roger say, then? Nick will lend us money if we're lucky."

Syd shook black strands out of his field of vision. He took the nearest exit onto the highway, not caring where it would lead them for now, and started explaining.

"I know a guy four, five hours from here, name's David. He offered us a job, a good one, and we can all get in on it."

Rick rolled up the window and started switching through the radio stations, his hair ruffled and his collar torn. At this point, they didn't have much to lose, so he sighed and glanced at Syd.

"Continue."

"For six months, we'll live in a flat he's rented for us, and all we have to do is load and drive some trucks, maybe strike a deal or two if we're good. The cops caught me trying to get some boxes into a van for him- I didn't think it was that illegal, but whatever. Look at this."

The radio stopped on Tears For Fears' classic, "Everybody Wants To Rule The World". Rick had gone from clenching the door to clenching his hair now, his teeth gritted, and he blinked tightly. The feeling of dread and horror in the pit of his stomach instantly vanished when he saw the stack Syd pulled out of his pocket. Money, it's a gas.

"What's that?" he asked breathlessly.

"Eight hundred to load some boxes. A sweet deal is what that is," Syd answered in a calm, pleasant voice.  
"I'll go pick up Roger, I'm sure you can convince Nick. Are you with me?"

Syd adjusted the rearview mirror before looking at his... not coworker, just longtime friend, because they clearly didn't have that shitty waiter job anymore. The freeway seemed empty for a moment. Only them, a risky once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and the setting sun far ahead casting these warm pink and orange lights on both of their faces.

Rick sighed and nodded, pinching the bridge of his dorito-shaped nose.

"I'm with you."

  
The sun was down, and the sinister darkness of the neighborhood was only broken by the flash of headlights from passing cars or the old street lamps. Syd finally pulled up at Nick's place, a roach-infested complex just like all of theirs. Rick had two huge bags of McDonald's. He stepped out of the car, leaving one of them inside, and took a quick look at the starless, bible black sky. Syd wiped his forehead.

"It might be better if you're not there while I go talk about this to Roger."

Richard nodded.  
"I understand. Good luck."

He closed the door and waved once before the Buick drove off. Rick turned around and walked to the building's entrance. He checked his watch as soon as he was under the buzzing yellow light above the door, small moths swirling around it.  
10:34 PM.

Rick climbed up the stairs. The smell of fries followed him wherever he went and he was a bit tense, because at night, these buildings could be sketchy, to say the least.

He knocked at Nick's door. Apparently, his neighbours were having a noisy fight, so he was probably awake, and a crack appeared in the door- yes he was.  
"It's nighttime, what are you doing here? You don't seem drunk."  
"Syd found us a job. Serious business."  
Nick raised his bushy eyebrows and fully opened the door, smiling.  
"Serious business, as you say..."

Rick stepped inside and cleared his throat. Nick walked into the living room and sat down on the cheap couch, Rick joining him after laying out a surprising amount of junk food on the coffee table. Everything was surprisingly neat for such a small place. The skunk-like smell of w33d and the unmistakable aroma of McDonald's fries were battling for dominance like in a cringey fanfiction such as this one.

"So, you gonna tell me what the job is?"

Rick crossed his legs, sighing for the tenth time.  
"Well- it's a bit dangerous, you see. Syd met this David chap, or whatever, a couple hours away, and he wants us to go and work for him, loading and driving trucks and all, maybe 'strike a deal or two'. The pay- Syd made eight hundred, just today."

Nick answered when he was done chewing on a Big Mac.  
"Mmm, eight hundred. Sounds interesting, very interesting."

"I think I'm in, I mean," Rick said, interrupting himself with a light chuckle. "A lot to gain, not much to lose."

Nick appeared thoughtful for a moment, then just nodded. "Yeah, count me in."  
He casually turned off the TV.  
"Really?" Rick asked, surprised by how easy that choice was.  
"Do you think I like working at Burger King and being late on every bill I've ever had?"  
Rick didn't reply. Fair point. Nick gestured towards the couch.  
"Oh, you can crash here, we're pretty far from your place and you don't have a car."  
Rick did that exhale-laugh noise. "Thanks for the reminder."

He kept wondering if they were getting actively tracked down by police, but mostly about how things were going between Syd and Roger. Syd seemed to be the only person he truly respected. He didn't know how they were all still friends when their personalities clashed so dramatically, maybe it was their mutual brokeness and the need for something bigger.  
Nick changed the channel to the news, snapping him out of his thoughts. A major drug dealer busted, a shootout in a mall, what else...

  
“You come into _my_ house, tell me to move to some place in the middle of _nowhere_ , tell me to trust some random _fucker_ I've never met, tell me to-”

"Roger, please, chill out. It's an opportunity like we've never had before."

"Batshit insane and fucking stupid is what it is!"

Syd leaned back slightly, arms crossed. He watched as Roger stopped pacing and glared down at him. He didn't know if Nick had said yes, but he had to convince him somehow.

"Us three all agreed to go, and we'd leave without you, then. Do you really want to keep this worthless job forever? It'll take you years to move out. The mold here is already giving me a headache."

Roger stared for a second, his wide shoulders squared.  
"So you all talked about this without telling me?"

"It's now or never, Roger. I'm leaving in a minute," Syd replied with an unflinching placidity.

He lowered his head and lit a cheap cigarette, took a drag, took a quick look at his watch and glanced at Roger. Syd slightly expected his patterned shirt to burst into flame, seeing how upset he was.

"How dare you," he basically growled, voice a bit choked out.  
"What if you die out there? Huh? What if you get involved in one of those huge gang wars?"

Syd stepped towards the door.  
"Oh, come on, Roger. You're with us, right?"

"The car you have is mine, and if I take it back, you can't go, can you?"

"David offered to send a cab. He'll be happy to know there are three people working for him instead of just me. Goodbye."

Roger put a hand against his forehead, muttering under his breath, and took a long slow look around the small room. Syd opened the door and walked down the hall, took the escalator that wasn't broken, and headed outside. At least he had tried, but leaving his friend behind was an unepic experience, 0/10. He'd come around.  
Again, he struggled to get the car to start, but it did so eventually.

Roger got into the passenger seat and shut the door with a thunderous noise, holding a small bag of what was most likely necessary stuff.  
"Make it four. Let's go get Rick and Nick."

Syd only smiled.  
"I knew you'd come around."

They drove away into the black str33ts.


	2. The Bois In Blue Come Back and Disappear for Plot Convenience

Rick rubbed his eyes and looked at his watch, putting it back on. They'd all stayed here the night before.  
 _8:32 AM._  
He quickly combed his hair, Nick sorted through his belongings™, Roger brushed his teeth and Syd was on the phone, writing things down.

“That's it. Yeah. Yes. Where? ...highway... Fletchers Avenue... okay... 104, Brookvale Street... Alright. A Buick Estate. Three guys in a black limo... Okay. Okay, yes, thank you Mr. Gilmour.”  
He laughed.  
“Alright– thank you, David.”

“Looks like you're already good friends,” Roger scoffed, overdramatically rolling his eyes.

“Five hundred for our first day, we'll load some equipment into a very legit Coca Cola truck.”

Nick rearranged a few dollar bills before putting them in his pocket.  
“What struck me was the black limousine, I guess he doesn't care for staying hidden.”

“A bit flashy.” Syd shrugged. “Maybe it's a first impression.”  
He'd changed clothes from the waiter uniform into a very colourful Hawaiian shirt over a white tee. Rick came out wearing the same thing but less extra.

“Oh,” he sighed for the twentieth time.

Syd found this hilarious.  
“Oh well. Is everyone ready?”

“You say that like it's a fun little family roadtrip,” Roger joked, met with a “yeah lmao lol” and a “pretty much tbh ngl fr fr” from Nick and Richard.

“It's much better to treat it like one than moping around about the terrible dangers that definitely await us. I'll be in the car.”

Rick looked up and followed him, but Roger walked faster thanks to his longass legs and snatched the passenger's seat. Nick and Rick went in the back.

“We have to stop at my place. It'll take five minutes,” said Ricc.

“K” said Rog.

“Aigh't” said Nicc and Syde.

They went for gas first then stopped at Rick's place. You'll never guess! Of course it was the ghettoest complex to ever exist! Syd also went because he basically lived there ever since some dudes had a gunfight right outside his door.

“That was six minutes,” Roger pointed out when they came back.

Rick sighed for the thirtieth time. He opened his mouth slightly but didn't say anything, then whipped around to look behind the car like everyone else did.

“The cops,” Nick said.

Black car, white paint, blue and red swirling lights. Three different ones.

“Drive, Syd, drive!” Roger yelled before Syd took off, stomping on the gas pedal.

They passed through street after street, onto big roads, running red lights, like this really was GTA V. The cops were gaining on them. Syd was spinning the steering wheel, swerving, braking and entering, dodging trees, cars, people. Exclamations of “Oh shit!” “Look out!” “Behind us!” and “AHAHAHAHA” made their fun little jaunt all the more exciting.

They z o o m e d onto the freeway. A police car to their left bumped into them. One to the right was approaching. Syd grunted.  
 _‘They want war? They're getting it!’_

He spun around, briefly fearing the tires might pop, but too hyped with adrenaline to really care. Black tire stains marked the road behind them. They drove against the traffic, confusing drivers and causing a crash, which then exploded. It slowed down the cops and they gained distance. Enough distance to spin around again, go back onto the good lane, cut off everyone and generally act like in GTA V.

Syd had never gone this fast before and was staring ahead with narrowed, focused hazel eyes, his jaw clenched.  
Roger was beyond impressed with those driving skills but also trying not to die.  
Nick, fearless, had unbuckled his seatbelt and was helping Syd keep an eye on the cops.  
Rick forgot what not hyperventilating felt like.

The radio sputtered and the music was drowned out by the engine and the static.

_"I just died in your arms tonight..."_

Syd's priority was losing the cops, now. Two of them were still after him. He shifted gears and they almost flew above the road, speeding across the bridge, the police hot on their tail, bumping at them, trying to destabilize them. Syd swerved between cars and trucks to create more distance.

The blur of grey and brown city turned into woodland. The freeway seemed endless in front of them, running up and down the mountains.

“Syd, to your right!” Nick called.

Syd tried to dodge, but the car came crashing into them, and they started spinning wildly. Did that stop Roger Keith Barrett? In your dreams.  
Ignoring the horrified screams of his friends, he braked abruptly, shifting gears, _maneuvering_ that driving wheel– and miraculously, he took off again.

Roger laughed maniacally, having the time of his life.  
“Woah, holy shit!”  
Nick looked shaken up but still chiller than the other three.  
“Let's pretend he didn't learn that from me.”

Syd took a deep breath as the cops grew near again. He glanced at his mirrors. This lead nowhere, and there was only one way out, now.

The triumphant joy turned back into terror as he pulled the driving wheel and drove straight down a hill. This destroyed bushes and small trees in their way, ruining their poor suspension if they even had one, but definitely losing the cops. They came down onto a small dirt road with a horrible creak. The wagon was shaking even more than they were.

Syd finally slowed the car down, then parked near a sparse forest. His hands wouldn't stop shaking and he felt numb now that the rush of the moment was coming back down. Hopefully, the dirt road would lead them to the freeway again.

“Are you alright?” he asked to everyone involved.

Nick nodded once. “Yeah.”

“We're not dead, that was awesome!” Roger affirmed.

“Is it over?” Rick asked.

“Are we currently moving?” Roger answered.

Rick sighed for the fortieth time and stumbled out of the car. Syd walked out and looked around, then, as they did every five seconds, checked the time.  
Only 9AM, good.  
Roger and Nick also stepped outside. Nick started climbing up the hill to go check for the cops again, and Roger followed him because, like, fuck the police lmao.

Syd leaned against the car next to Rick, who had his arms tightly crossed and was no longer hyperventilating, but had been having a great deal of trouble lighting a cigarette while shivering so he'd just given up.

“So what do you think?”

“We've already gone so far that we might as well take that job,” he said hoarsely.

Syd blinked. “True.”

Rick was about to answer but didn't.

“I think they're looking for us. We have to leave,” Roger announced when him and Nick came back. He sighed and shook his head.  
“And we don't even have guns.”  
“We don't gave guns yet,” Nick pointed out.

Syd looked up at the sky, his hands on his hips, and went back inside the mutilated Buick. The others also did that and they drove off again. Real sad hours.


	3. Literally Just Boring Exposition Because We Meet ELP

"Woah! We're halfway there," Nick announced, driving down Fletchers Avenue at, unfortunately, legal speed.

"Woah, oh!" said the other three with varying levels of enthusiasm.

Turns out stealing the license plate of another car and switching drivers somehow made it harder for the single collective braincell of fictional police to find you.

With directions from Syd and some gentle and compassionate constructive criticism from Roger, Nick pulled up in front of a restaurant in an empty street.

"So, where..." Roger began before looking outside.

Some muscular dude with soft anime hair that rivaled your waifu tapped on his window, wearing black sunglasses like this was The Matrix. Roger left the car, followed by all the others, and on the sidewalk stood three scruffy-looking guys of varying heights, the buff one in a tight shirt that would make IRL 70s David jealous, the lowkey intimidating one in a white suit, and the small tough-looking one in a leather jacket.

Bad-quality audio sounded from the restaurant.  
_I wear my sunglasses at night,_  
_So I can, so I can_  
_Keep track of the visions in my eyes!_

Syd stepped forwards and so did the tallest one. They gave eachother a polite but f i r m handshake.

"Barrett, correct?" the dude asked in a deep, smooth voice and professional tone.

"Correct."

"Allow us to introduce ourselves," the buff one said darkly, stepping forwards.  
He adjusted his sunglasses and grinned.

"Prepare for trouble."

Leather guy looked up. "Make it triple."

"To protect Dave's merchandise from devastation!"

"To unite all dealers within our-"

"I'm Lake, that's Emerson, that's Palmer."

"Aw," said Emerson and Palmer but mostly Palmer. Lake continued while the newbies exchanged worried glances.

"Every division has its own name. I suggest finding your own."

"What is yours?" Syd curiously asked, which has the same energy as angrily yelling.

The three men took off their sunglasses and answered in perfect unison.  
"Emerson, Lake & Palmer."

"Oh wow," said Syd, Roger, Nick and Rick also in unison.

Lake lead them to the limousine.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Rick whispered in Syd's ear.

"We all do," Roger whispered back.  
He saw Emerson get on his bike instead of joining them in the limousine, and bluntly asked if he was already leaving.

"It's a dangerous game you just got into," he replied, opening his jacket to reveal a bulletproof vest, a full arsenal of daggers on one side, and a machine gun on the other.  
"Better watch o-"

"Keeeiiiith, stop scaring the rookies!" Palmer yelled.

"You're ruining the fun, Caaaaarl!"

Roger looked at Syd, who went ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ and sat inside.

Instead of clean and uniform like the black exterior of the vehicle, the interior was so fucking _flashy_. Any more different patterns on the seats and it would look like a patchwork. Neon lights. Stereos on the doors. Stereos on the doors with neon lights. The windows were tainted black and literally everything in his field of vision looked like it cost 50,000$.

A tiny figurine of a tank-armadillo hung from the rearview mirror before they shut the window that let him see the two front seats. The limousine started moving®.

"What did you drag us into?" Roger murmured, staring at Syd with a look of slight horror.

Syd went "ummm", and quickly thought of a positive aspect like this was an English class essay you force yourself to pretend to care about.  
"They're loaded, they're obviously loaded. Look at all of that. We could also get rich."

"That guy had a machine gun in his shirt."

"And we could have machine guns in our shirts!"

Rick was occupied with trying to open a cooler labeled 'liquor' in fancy colourful handwriting.

"I think it's chill," Nick said before joining Rick in his battle against the cooler.

They lost. Press F to pay respects.

"What should our name be?" Syd asked.

Everyone was like :thinking:.

"The Tea Set," Roger suggested.

"No, that's the band that made that album with the rainbow triangle," Rick pointed out.

"Shit, um..."

"The Fuchsia Foursome," Nick jokingly added.

"LMAO BRUH" said Roger and Rick.

Syd furrowed his brow, going "🤔", and remembered those two musicians he listened to long ago.

"What about... Pink Floyd?"

"That has a ring to it," Nick said, nodding.

"Yeah," Rick agreed, while Roger went "Uh-huh. The Pink Floyd it is."

This was the first and last time they all agreed together.

The limousine stopped moments later. Syd checked his watch.  
_11:22 AM._  
What an early time to receive potential new guys for your illegal business.

Carl opened the car door while Lake held a large door to a huge light brown building open. Lots of people were moving about. Syd nodded respectfully and Lake returned it as the four guys walked in, and they followed, soon joined by Keith.

The group walked along a carpet in a huge busy hall with desks, doors and two escalators further away, light pouring in from the many windows.  
They all looked around, but Lake leaned in and told them to stare ahead and avoid all eye contact. Syd started having slight doubts about this and swallowed hard, but pushed his fear away, because what even was the point? They were already there.

"Greg, do you think they'll survive?" Carl asked his compatriot.

"They'll prove that themselves," Greg answered.

Syd and a visibly tense Rick glanced at eachother.

Keith muttered something about Carl being a hypocrite with """not scaring the rookies""".  
Greg moved in front and took the lead, walking pretty fast.  
He entered a smaller corridor and opened a door among four similar ones, going up two flight of stairs, into another corridor, another door, et cetera. Finally, he opened the door to a bigger room and stepped aside.

"Good luck," Carl whispered. "A tip: be honest."

"He'll know if you're lying," Keith whispered. "Think... deadly Santa."

"Goodbye, goodbye!" the three whispered in perfect timing.

Rick was the last to enter and jumped when the door slammed shut. Syd turned around briefly. Roger stood still, ready for whatever awaited them, and Nick kept his arms crossed.

The spacious office had a few chairs, but most notably, behind the desk, a huge dark red one turned away from them, where David was most likely sitting.

"Mr. Gilmour?" Syd asked.

At last, the chair swiveled around to face the Pink Floyd.


	4. David Sends Them Off to Led Zeppelin for "Training" and It Goes Wrong, Oh No Jonesy

There David sat, long fluffy hair cascading down his shoulders, and powerful arms resting crossed on the smooth black surface of the table. He wore a slightly oversized warm grey suit with a bright patterned tie. In his cyan gaze was a determined glint. One simple word came from his lips.

"Welcome."

The serenity of his voice sent Waves of Cool, Slightly Intimidating Energy rippling across the room. The group didn't budge, looking at him with awe, wariness, or both. Finally, Syd adjusted the collar of his Hawaiian shirt and walked to the man's desk, head lifted and gait smooth with an air of confidence, footsteps echoing. Surreal white light from the windows behind David showered the men with its pale glow.

"Glad to meet you. Call me Syd."

"Call me Dave."

David stood and they shared a handshake, much like with Greg, but a bit less firm. He looked at the three others.

"Ah, are these your coworkers?"

Syd pointed to each.  
"Yes, there's Roger Waters, Nick Mason, and Richard Wright."

David looked at each of them for a moment. He sat back down and leaned back in his large chair.  
"Come forward, there are chairs for each of you. Now, I have to be clear."

He waited until all four were in front of him. Syd didn't flinch at his eye contact, blinking once, then took a quick glance at his homebois. Roger was leaning forwards, cautious and attentive. Nick still had his arms crossed and seemed alert. Rick was nervously fiddling with his hands.

David checked his script. It was just a block of cheese.

"There, outside the door, stand three of my best guys, with years of fighting experience. Go out through the window, and it's four of them, armed to the teeth. You speak once of this meeting to someone outside the business and you're meat for my dogs. Understood?"

"Understood," Roger coldly replied, as untrusting as one could get.

"Understood," Nick coolly replied.

"Understood," Rick slightly less coolly and more 'the mii theme song but it's extremely unnerving' replied.

Syd nodded.  
"So, when do we start?"

"I like your thinking," David said, giving a little smirk.  
"Remember the job about the Coca Cola trucks? It's what I have planned for you. ELP will lead you to Led Zeppelin, who are especially good at sorting out the newbies, and they'll show you the basics. Have you chosen yourselves a name yet?"

"Pink Floyd," Syd replied.

"What exactly does the job consist of?" Roger asked.

"Mm... the Pink Floyd, of course."  
He then turned his godly blue gaze to Roger.  
"You'll be loading some bags at a stop, ten minutes or less, and five hundred bucks to each of you."

"Then why so many guys?"

David smiled.  
"Sorting out the newbies."

He stood up and walked to the door, opening it and whispering. Greg and Keith listened with very serious looks while Carl tried to wave at Pink Floyd and grinned and did tons of thumbs-up and fingerguns. Nick and Syd returned his thumbs-up and grinned, Roger and Rick waved, fingergunned and smiled, then Greg gently hit Carl on the back of the head and they all returned to seriousness.

Syd was just able to hear the word "guns" and looked at Roger, who had also heard.  
"Oh," Syd murmured.

ELP walked away and David looked at Syd.  
"Don't worry. It's just precaution, you probably won't have to kill anybody on your first day."

Carl popped back in.

"Led Zep did it, but we did it on our second day and it was much, much cooler. Much cooler!"

And he was gone again. David went with him, quietly closing the door.

"Wow," Nick wowed. "This is... pretty intense, but at least it pays."

"I'm not mentally prepared to murder someone yet, give me thirty minutes," Rick stated, running a hand through his hair and sighing for the fiftieth time.

Syd looked around.  
"We'll be alright. All we have to do is do what we're told and not get killed, and we've been doing that for over twenty years already."

ELP and David came back in.

"Gun or melee?" Keith asked Rick.

"Melee," he answered.

Keith handed him a knife in a fancy sheath.

"Gun or melee?" he asked Nick.

This went on until Nick and Roger had glocks, Syd had a goddamn katana, and Rick had a knife. He stared blankly at it until Keith pulled him aside.  
"Now, this one of the main ways to fatally injure someone with a dagger..."  
This went on.  
Carl and David opened the window to reveal targets further away. Roger and Nick had epic shooting practice.  
Greg taught Syd the martial art of the weeaboo. Greg, you fool, you're a pirate, not a weeb.  
This went on.

ELP eventually took the Floyd out to meet the Led Zeppelin dudes, who were not so patiently waiting. The first noticeable thing about them was their hair. The one in front had shimmery, lustrous deep yellow locks, like the precious metal itself, and one with a somber look to his eyes had dark hair that absorbed the golden beaming light of the first. Oh yeah, John Bonham and John Paul Jones were there I guess.

Keith nodded to Rick.  
"Remember, when stabbing the stomach, always slash directly across the soft tissue and pull the blade out for maximum damage."

Rick's facial expression resembled a smile. "And twist if I can."

Keith nodded slowly. "Perfection."

"ELP blast off at the speed of light," Keith, Greg, and Carl said.  
Emerson, Lake and Palmer put their sunglasses back on and sonic-ed awayyy.

David looked at the golden-haired dude.  
"Robert, meet Pink Floyd, our new recruits."

Robert smiled but also seemed disinterested at the same time. The dark-haired one looked each member up and down.  
"Skinny," he commented.

Roger looked at Syd. Again.  
Rick stared at his knife.  
Nick stared at Led Zeppelin.  
Jones stared back at Nick.  
David saw all there ever was and would ever be.

"What did you expect, Jimmy?" Bonham asked before returning to his state of semi-reality into a parallel universe where he'd been replaced by Pete Best.

Robert remembered that he existed.  
"Let's go. You drive, Bonzo."

John teleported into a spooky white van. The name "LÖDED DIPER" crudely painted on the doors was scratched out and replaced with "LED ZEPPELIN". The other John walked normally, Robert kinda floated and Jimmy sulked. Pink Floyd walked normally.

"Don't break them this time," David warned, looking at Robert, who just nodded.

They drove off.

 

"You do what we say and nothing else," Jimmy repeated.

"And nothing else," the Floyd guys groaned.

"What we say and?"

"Nothing else."

"We're there," Bonham said, coming back from his journey through the astral plane and unclenching the driving wheel.

They arrived at a truck stop. A small white cabin on the side of the freeway with big truck-sized roads around in. Y'know, a truck stop.

"You, follow me," Robert said, signaling to Syd before breaking into the truck stop with a crowbar.

He opened a hidden trap in the floor and pulled out a suitcase with six full bags of pure coke like in the movies, then closed the suitcase and gave it to Syd.

"Put that in the truck."

Syd briefly thought that he wasn't being paid enough for this as he carried the suitcase into the ironically-Coca-Cola-branded Vehicle™.

"Hey, Rob!" a voice called.

Syd looked to where it came from. Turns out there was a ditch on the other side of the road. Someone grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him behind the truck.

"Ah." Syd said.

"Bro," Robert muttered, letting him go. "Was that Ray?"

"Manzarek, bro?" Jimmy asked.

"Oh! New recruits!" another yelled.

Cackling laughter rang out and gunshots popped. Jones jolted, then fell back, dropping his gun and Bonham had to pull him to safety. Nick and Rick joined Syd behind the truck while Roger ran after Jimmy. Oh god oh fuck.

"The Doors," Jimmy spat, taking cover behind their van and loading his rifle.  
"They got Jonesy, the bastards."

Roger took out his glock and so did Nick. Robert lifted his shirt and pulled out a handgun. They started firing at The Doors and The Doors shot at them lol. Syd sat down in a more comfortable position and watched the gunfight.

"I could throw it," Rick whispered, looking at his knife.

"You try that, Richard, and see how it goes," Robert said.

Rick gave him a semi-blank semi-glaring look.

Jimmy ran out of munitions.  
Everyone ran out of munitions.

The four members of The Doors stepped out of their ditch-trench, Jim Morrison himself in lead. A very salty-looking Robby was clenching his shoulder but that was all. They looked on both sides of the road.

Syd realized he'd left his weeb sword in the car. Shit. Robert tried to grab Rick's knife but he literally hissed and pulled it closer, slapping Robert on the arm until he let go. Robert rolled his eyes and came out of hiding, followed by all of Led Zeppelin and all of Pink Floyd.

"Fricking heck," Jonesy said, leaning on Bonham with a huge bloodstain on his shirt.

"Hecking frick," Jim replied, stopping right in front of them, weapon in hand.

All of the Doors lifted their guns.

Everyone looked at Robert, except Roger, who had to be held back by Nick.

"We'll let you go if you leave us the coke," Jim said, sounding very bored.

"May we negotiate?" Robert asked, his gorgeous hair emitting powerful golden glows.

"Huh," Jim said, sniffling. "What you got?"

"Uhm." Robert paused. "What do you want?"

Jim looked at Ray, who laughed, and he also laughed.  
"Get outta here," he told Robert, shaking his head. "If you die, we won't have anyone to play with anymore."

Jimmy and Robby were having a staring contest. Robert made a whining noise like a child being kept away from their toy then went back in the van. Everyone went back in the van.

Syd was between Jones and Roger. He could feel the chaotic energy radiating from Bonham as he told him how to keep semi-unconscious Jones from dying. He put Syd's hand on the actual literal bullet wound.

"Put pressure and don't move."

Syd did that. It was very hard not to move when the roads were bumpy and broken. Everyone seemed Big Mad or [extreme discomfort]. David would be Very Big Mad. This was not an epic start.


	5. Filler Lol

David slammed his hands down on the desk.

"The Doors! Again. They still work for Hendrix?"

The three uninjured Led Zeppelin members and the entirety of Pink Floyd stood in front of him. Jonesy was sent off to Queen and Genesis for healing. Syd had heard him mutter something about "the chaos, I can feel it already" and was slightly concerned. 

"It seems like it," Robert answered.

David sighed loudly. He dialed a number on the white phone beside him.

"We'll have to speed things up."

He used his other hand to open a drawer in his desk, and handed each dude thin stacks of green paper. Syd counted his. 800$ how epic.

"Townshend, yes? ... Listen, can the boats be ready for tomorrow?"

Pause.

"9PM will do."

Pause.

"k bye xox luv u 2 bitch x333"

"Pete said it was ok. You all know about this," David said to Led Zeppelin before looking at the newbies.

"We're moving to Miami."

"Miami?" Syd Echoed®, his eyes wide.

Rick gasped.

"I heard they cover up all the blood with aesthetic palm trees," he whispered in total amazement.

"I heard all they drive are aesthetic Camaros and Impalas," Roger added.

"I heard the sea around it was made of aesthetic pink and blue Fiji water," Nick wondered.

David blinked.

"I don't know about the aesthetic, but it's the place to be at our stage. It's where Hendrix has been for the past two years. We'll finally catch up to him."

The phone rang and he picked up, not even saying hello. Syd looked around and crossed his arms, highkey bored.

David smiled.

"Good. Come back, we're leaving soon."

"McCartney?" Jimmy asked, looking at Dav with deep hazel eyes, a shadow covering the top half of his face.

"No, Lennon. I sent the Beatles on a search-and-find, you know how good they are."

David cleared his throat.

"Zeppelin, get ELP in your van and make a quick visit to Morrison Hotel."

"Of course," Robert agreed, absentmindedly cleaning his rifle with a tissue. He stood up, turned around and left, leaving a trail of shimmering golden flecks behind him. Bonzo and Page followed.

"Do you still want to work for me?" David asked one last time in the most serious of tones.

The newly formed Pink Floyd glanced at eachother once.

"Yeah."

"Yeahhh, I guess."

"K."

"Alrrrighty."

"Very good. I'll take you to meet the rest of the family while I tell them we're leaving on very short notice- they're used to it, don't worry."

 _'Family?'_ Syd thought, feeling like he was in some kind of weird mafia.

David walked out of the room, through two huge glass doors and down a flight of white stairs with a modern design. You can tell by these hyper descriptive words that I have absolutely studied architecture like the Floyd. 

"I'm pretty sure a quick visit means shooting up the place," Roger whispered to Syd, bending down to be at his level." Not sure about this anymore."

"Ahhh, c'mon. We'll survive," Syd murmured with a small scoff.

They stopped into a wide place with couches, a shitton of equipment and a bigass chandelier and a high as fuck ceiling. All this behind a boring office building. Bruh bruh bruh

Jonesy was staring at nothing with a look of death in his eyes, hooked up to an IV, while a group of long-haired dudes kneeled and prayed for his salvation, except one, who also had a look of death in his eyes.

"In the name of the Saint Lord up above, it's David Gilmour," a weird dude with a fucked up hairline said, standing up with his hands still together. The rest of the group did the same. David smiled.

"Pink Floyd, meet Genesis, lead by Peter Gabriel. Genesis, meet Pink Floyd."

"Lead by Peter... for now," one said darkly.

Peter Griff- uh Gabriel glared at him. "Anyway hi. That's Phil, and Mike, and Tony."

Mike seemed... reasonably friendly? and Tony was the one with death in his eyes.

"Steve is off somewhere being inexistent I guess lmao why are our lineups like this." Peter said. "What are your names?"

"I'm Syd, that's Roger, Rick and Nick."

Roger, Rick, Nick and Mike and Tony said awkward "hi"s and "hello"s.

"Where's Queen?" David asked.

At this exact instant, three ropes came falling from the chandelier and three guys slid down. The one with the iconic moustache opened his arms wide but had an aura of someone not to be messed with. "Welcome!"

"Hi, Freddie Mercury," David greeted.

"I'm Brian May," the long-legged skinny one that almost rivaled Roger with poodle-like black hair said.

"My name is John Richard Deacon," the other one said.

The chandelier came crashing down. 

"Oh!" shouted all of Genesis, getting into different battle stances.

Rick and Syd jumped. Nick flinched. Roger sighed. Jonesy weakly covered his ears. David rubbed his temples.

"Galileo, bitches," the small blonde one on top of the fallen chandelier finished.

"What are you wearing, that's so tacky on so many levels," Freddie told Dav, most of Genesis, Rog and Nicc. David went "um...", all of Genesis looked embarrassed on some level, Nick was perplexed and Roger was offended.

Freddie's tone softened as he looked at Rick, Peter and Syd.

"Not you two, the Hawaiian shirts and... whatever that is are wonderful choices."

"Are they not?" Syd agreed.

Rick did what resembled a smile. At least he did it better than Tony.

"This isn't a dressing show," Roger Waters said jokingly.

"For now," Freddie answered.

David stepped forward and everyone went quiet.

"How are you feeling, John?"

Jonesy looked at Deaky, who pointed towards himself and looked confused, and Jonesy looked confused too, glancing from side to side.

"Paul Jones," David finished.

"I'm tired and I want to go home," Jonesy replied.

"You have a new home now, because we're moving to Miami!" David announced.

Everyone had about the same reaction as Pink Floyd did except Jones, a member of Led Zeppelin who already knew, and Deacy, who knew everything.

Syd heard footsteps and turned around. The rest of Led Zeppelin had just came back with ELP, like 75% of them had small cuts on their hands or faces or both and Carl was holding onto Greg because he fucked up his leg somehow. Led Zeppelin went to emotionally support Jonesy who seemed extremely disheartened. Genesis with the power of God and anime got to preparing more medical stuff with the help of Brian and Roger.

"Brian, you don't even do medicine," Roger said.

"Well neither does he," Brian said, nodding towards Tony.

Tony stared into the camera while Peter bounded over to Carl.

"And now everyone's here. How did it go?" David asked.

"We got 'em," Greg replied.

Robert agreed. "We did it to 'em."

"By it he means brutally attack and potentially harm innocents," Keith clarified.

"It was wild," Bonham said.

"I think we got John and Ray," Jimmy said.

"Ow," Carl said, lying down.

"Ouch, Carl got grazed by a bullet," Keith clarified x2.

"He's too young to dodge them yet, the poor guy," Greg explained.

Carl frowned.

"K, we'll be gone before they can retaliate," Dave said.

"Let's wait for the Beatles."

They waited for the Beatles. Finally, four mop-topped dudes who looked similar but not as similar as ELP came down the stairs. They noticed the Floyd and reached out for handshakes to each of them.

"John Lennon."

They both had confidence, but in differing ways.

"Syd Barrett."

"Paul McCartney."

Neutrality. Slight tension.

"Roger Waters."

"Ringo Starr."

Underrated drummer gang. They seemed decently friendly but not that much except Nick.

"Nick Mason."

"George Harrison."

Forgotten best one gang.

"Richard Wright."

"Let's pack, then," David told the gang of homies/forced homiedom.


	6. Oh No Paul What Is You Doin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: continuity lol

Everyone got off the boat after 48 hours, got into cars, then stopped in a totally not suspicious empty parking lot. Most of Genesis were obsessing over a flower. Two thirds of ELP and Queen looked incredibly bored. Keith was sharpening one of his daggers. Rick and Syd copied this and started sharpening their blades.  
  
"Knives," said Peter Gabriel.  
"Yes," Keith answered, not looking up.  
"Keith loves knives," Carl said.  
"Umm, it's a katana, actually," Syd clarified.  
"Cool," said Keith, Carl, Peter and Rick.  
"Can I please borrow one to pick this flower?" Peter asked, pointing to a dandelion growing out of some cracks in the ground.  
Tony was staring blankly at it. Mike was on the ground with a camera, taking pictures, and Phil was pacing with a look of total shock on his face.  
  
Keith blinked. He stood up and cut the flower at the stem, handing it to Peter, who grinned widely and turned around.  
"A FLOWER?" screamed Peter Gabriel.  
"A FLOWER!?" yelled back the rest of Genesis as they stopped doing whatever they were doing.  
They laughed like maniacs.  
  
Freddie Mercury and John Deacon stopped talking. Keith, Carl, Rick and Syd exchanged a 'oh boy' glance.  
  
Syd looked around, seeing that John Lennon was having a conversation with Paul McCartney, Roger Taylor and Steve Hackett (who decided to exist) on if the water looked more orange or pink in the aesthetic sunsets.  
"Shut up Roger you're blind," said Lennon, Paul going "HAHA YEAH."  
"You fucking idiots think that trees and skies are tangerine and marmalade, no wonder you can't see it," Roger retorted.  
  
Syd was amused.  
"Do you always go from brutal murders and drug dealing to heated discussions about colours?" he asked Carl and Keith.  
Keith shrugged lightly.  
"It do be like that."  
Carl laughed, brushing a strand of confusingly-blonde hair out of his face.  
"Pretty much, yeah!"  
Syd went back to watching the debate.  
  
"Any colour you like" said Roger Waters, sending them all into a crisis and hereby winning. Syd, Rick, Nick and Carl applauded.  
  
Finally, David stepped out of a black Bentley. He gave the driver, Pete Townshend, a handshake as Greg and Robert stepped out as well. Geez, the amount of handshakes given in this fic rivals Wish You Were Here and Animals. He told everyone to get their mostly-weapon-filled bags and follow him. Everyone did that.  
  
Syd briefly overheard David's conversation with Robert and Greg before it was covered up by more hysterical laughter and "A FLOWER"s.  
"Yes, I striked a deal with this guy, Clapton..."  
  
Pink Floyd reformed and walked beside eachother.  
"It's scorching here," Roger said, his forehead glistening with sweat.  
"Maybe you shouldn't wear black every day, then," Syd suggested.  
"No other shade reflects the complexity of my character."  
"Where do you think we'll live?" Nick asked.  
"David surely has that covered," Syd replied.  
"Wow, David has everything covered," Nick said.  
David stans are pleased.  
"Rick, you have literally no lines," Roger said.  
"That's wrong, David told me to hide some coke in my bag, so that's a whole lot of lines," Richard pointed out, sighing for the seventieth time.  
"I meant dialogue but ok"  
  
David lead them into a huge bus. After rolecall like this was a school trip, George Harrison took to driving. Thankfully, he was not on acid this time.  
David turned the sheet over from the list of names to his speech. He kept his eyes on it as he read.  
  
"And now, I'll clarify things for you all. This is all possible thanks to a fifty-five million deal with Eric Clapton. I bought a giant mansion with enough rooms to house you all. With the money we'll make, you'll be able to buy your own place if you feel like doing so."  
  
LMAO as if. Within the rules of fanfiction, every band lives together.  
Sitting beside Nick, Syd kept listening, but looked out the window. Palm trees, clear skies, new cars and wow everything was either beige or neon.  
  
"I must warn you that things will get a whole lot more difficult, and the stakes will be higher, and the jobs tougher. We are officially at war with Hendrix and all his associates," David continued.  
"But when you agreed to work with me, you agreed to this, as well. Weapons and vehicles will get any upgrades you need. In exchange, I expect diligent work."  
He cleared his throat.  
"Ok uhhh... thanks for listening."  
And he sat down.

  
  
For the group, a spacious white room had been divided in four equal quarters separated by thin walls, with a simple bed in each. They could be accessed from a narrow hallway in the middle, with four doors, because four rooms, duh.  
Syd was painting purple stripes over his walls simply because he could. The clock indicated 4:33 PM and light streamed in from a single window, the pale curtains billowing gently in the Miami breeze. A knock came on the door.  
  
"Syd Barrett of Pink Floyd, is that it?" Brian asked.  
"Mhmm, what is it?"  
"Tell your mates that you're coming with us, we have to hit this other group and steal their stuff, the usual. A thousand dollars each. Do all of you know how to use guns?"  
"Yeah. Alright, just a second, we'll meet you downstairs."  
Roger and Nick obviously knew, and Rick and him had lowkey sworn off guns after a past incident - aka how he met David - but that was over, now.  
  
Syd went and knocked on everyone's doors when Brian was gone. Roger answered and reluctantly left. Nick was chill with it. Rick looked slightly worn out.  
Deacky gave them handguns, but they ran out so Rick got a shotgun, plus some munitions before they all got into a clean black van with the Queen logo painted on one door. Syd wondered if they'd get their own van one day.  
  
"Rog, slow down, you'll get us killed," Brian said, trying to figure out a big map.  
Roger grumbled and slowed down.  
"Is it far away?" Dea'y asked.  
"We're trying to find out,"  
Pink Floyd were being very quiet. Freddie Mercury turned to Syd.  
"So, were are you from, darling?"  
"Some broke neighbourhood is all there really is to know," Syd answered.  
"You must have some experience in..."  
Syd cleared his throat.  
"Unfortunately, we do."  
Freddie simply nodded, deep understanding in his eyes. The van stopped a few moments later. Everyone loaded their guns.  
  
As Syd walked outside, he noticed a similar-looking van parked in front of them, but didn't think much of it. Freddie lead the way inside the building. Waters, Syd and Taylor were right behind him, and the rest followed them, warily looking around. The building was what you'd expect. It had a reception office - empty of course - and it was wide with elevators up there where a staircase lead. There were a bunch of clean-haired dudes there.  
  
The bunch of dudes ran from the stairs behind whatever could hide them, from pillars to tables. They took out firearms.  
  
"The Rolling Stones," Deaqy said as they hid as well. Him, Rick and Syd crouched behind a desk.  
  
Yay gunfight. Deafening noises filled the place and bullets flew past.  
  
"That was McCartney," Rick murmured, rolling onto his back and stopping to reload.  
Syd's eyes went wide.  
"What?"  
"Paul, the Beatle, he was there."  
Syd huffed, then raised his head and fired at the Stones. He quickly ducked again.  
Before he could speak and Rick could shoot, a loud blast and a scream went off. He heard a "yes!" from Taylor.  
  
"We have to check it out," Syd said.  
"Yeah– let's go," Rick agreed.  
Using the diversion, he ran towards the door where he'd seen Paul flee. Syd followed swiftly, his finger still on the trigger.  
  
They didn't go any further, hearing Paul's voice.  
  
"Yeah– Jimi, it's me, y'know. Yeah, I know where they are. Just told Jones, y'know. No, Brian, not John. No– yes, that John. Y'know. Tomorrow night... the Generic Eighties Motel. I'll meet you there."  
  
Rick and Syd looked at eachother. Holy shit, Paul McCartney was a dirty spy.  
  
They heard screaming and went back to the scene of the gunfight, firing at the Rolling Stones again, and getting fired at, until Brian and Waters came the fuck back with them iconic suitcases. And so, they went back into the van and back to David's mansion.  
  
No one was hurt, thanks to their plot armour, and Pink Floyd were rewarded with their own car as well as financial compensation. Syd and Rick, however, devised a plan. They had to stop Paul.


	7. In The Air Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> edit: continuity

_'The causeway is clear tonight.'_  
  
The black convertible rolled at a fast but steady speed. The traffic was smooth for once, and white lights reflected on the car's body, drifting across it. In The Air Tonight by Bill Collins came on. Richard let it play.  
  
Syd and Rick were both quiet. The shadows casted on their faces shifted constantly, their fluffy hair tousled. The night was warm and the wind was strong. In the car, a heavy silence reigned coldly, but comfortably.  
  
When he'd gotten in the driver's seat much earlier, Syd had been clenching the wheel so hard his knuckles were white, but now he was calmly steering it. He switched lanes, staring ahead with an emotionless hazel gaze. Watson Island only felt like a vague blur.  
Head low, Rick looked at him through thick lashes, then turned away again when Syd didn't return his glance. He raised his weapon. The sinister tone and echoing vocals of the song fit well with the clicking of a shotgun being loaded.  
  
"How much time we got?" Syd asked.  
  
Rick looked at his watch.  
  
"Twenty five minutes."  
  
Syd stopped the car near a phone booth and stepped outside. The quarters tinkled when he put them in before dialing. As the phone rang, he watched the Miami skyline, and he averted his eyes when Roger picked up.  
  
"Where the fuck have you been?" the distinctive voice demanded.  
  
"Roger, our friendship... what we had together... was it real?" he asked.  
His voice was low and slightly raspy, as he knew this might be the last time they spoke.  
  
"Yes– What does this mean, Syd?"  
  
He was quiet for a second, not knowing how not to upset him further. Maybe just cutting it off would do more good.  
  
"Nothing, Roger... nothing."  
  
Syd hung up before getting back into the convertible, driving off again. The climactic crashing drum solo came just as he sped up, zooming through the MacArthur Causeway, the engine only giving off a vibrating hum. He let his jaw unclench as a light ache washed over the sides of his face.  
  
Then, the unmistakable neons of South Beach were highlighted on the pitch black hood of the car. They pulled up at one of the motels. Bright blue lights flashed against the pastel-coloured building.  
  
"Let's go," Syd said, katana strapped to his back in its slender bag and Glock in one hand.  
Rick nodded solemnly, shotgun in his arms and dagger on his belt. Wearing their assorted Hawaiian shirts, the two men walked into the empty building.  
  
Even the elevator ride lasted forever, each small 'ding!' signaling another hour instead of another floor. They found McCartney's room. Richard stepped to the side and leaned against the wall, and Syd knocked. A small crack appeared in the door.  
  
"We know what you're up to, McCartney," Syd said.  
"Do you?" he replied.  
  
He kicked the door open right in Syd's face and lifted an uzi, firing holes into the wood while trying to get him. Syd pushed the door off as Rick barreled into Paul.  
  
Paul dropped his gun. Blood spilling from his nose, Syd quickly grabbed it and ran into the room.  
Rick pushed Paul into the cabinet, breaking crockery, then got shoved away when he was pulling his arm back to punch him.  
  
Syd aimed with the uzi, but it just jammed, so he took out his handgun. Paul noticed and swung at the side of Rick's head, sending him staggering back. Syd shot and missed, and soon Paul was wrestling the gun out of his hands.  
  
Syd fired again, this time getting Paul in the foot. He screamed and fell against Syd, using his weight to push him back and into a closet. Coathangers and clothes fell on him and the doors closed.  
  
He tried to open them again, but Paul had blocked the handles with the barrel of Rick's shotgun. Syd cursed under his breath, trying to take out his katana while Rick and Paul fought. There wasn't enough room. He kept trying to find a way out until Rick cried out, falling over. Oh shit oh fuck what was that.  
  
Paul went to hold him down but Rick rolled over, kicking him in the knee. He stumbled to his feet, grabbed his knife and glanced as his bloodstained shirt, then stared at Paul.  
  
"What are you gonna do, kill me?" Paul taunted before attacking him again, blocking his blows and pinning him down, staining the carpet crimson red.  
  
Syd kept ramming into the door, but with the shotgun shoved there, it was no use.  
"Come on, Rick!" he called.  
  
Rick could not answer, because he was being strangled by a Beatle. He got more and more frantic with his slashes and cut Paul somewhere, because Paul loosened his grip enough to be pushed off.  
  
Syd watched through the closet as Rick came near to f r e e him. Syd was about to ask what was wrong until he saw something move. Paul was up, now raising a baseball bat and approaching slowly.  
"Behind you!"  
  
Rick turned around and plunged his knife in Paul's stomach. Paul dropped the bat.  
Syd jumped a little, watching the anger in the Beatle's eyes drain, replaced by complete and utter shock. He dug his fingernails into Rick's back as he cut across the length of his abdomen. Rick twisted sharply, pulled the knife out, and kicked Paul to the floor.  
  
Rick pulled a tape recorder out of his pocket and turned it on.  
"You work for Hendrix, admit it," he asked coolly.  
  
"Is that all you wanted to know?" Paul spat through pained gasps.  
He grunted and winced.  
"Yes. Now... ugh– Are you happy, you ... you bastards! Sons of bitches– d-dogs– Fuck you!"  
He let his head fall back.  
  
At last, Richard took the shotgun out of the door handles, and turned off the tape recorder. Syd just stared at him. He didn't know what to say, and apparently Richard didn't either, his breathing slightly heavy and his blue eyes hazy.  
  
They both walked out of the empty motel.  
  
"You killed him, I can't believe you've done this. What the fuck, Richard," Syd said softly, driving off.  
Rick shook his head, his eyes half-closed. He was struggling to breathe now and blood was trickling onto the leather seat. Apparently, this was very important, because he shakily took a tissue and tried to wipe it off. Syd noticed this.  
"Did he get you?"  
"Just a cut."  
He started unbuttoning his used-to-be-gorgeous shirt, which was probably very difficult in his state, then looked at the open wound right under his chest.  
"Bitch."  
Tbh.  
"The pain is gonna kick in before we get home, and that will be a real bitch."  
"But," he heaved, "that's not right now."  
"Valid point."  
  
Syd paused.  
  
"Feels so weird, like nothing's happened, but I'm pumped and scared at the same time. What about you?"  
  
"Um."  
Rick paused.  
"Numb."  
  
Syd sniffled. His nose still hurt.  
"This is a terrible thing. As soon as Lennon knows of this – and he'll know – we are done, but at least we exposed Paul. I don't know. We've fucked ourselves up."  
  
Rick didn't answer, but seemed thoughtful, staring outside for a few seconds. He tried to move to go through the radio stations, but groaned as soon as he leaned forwards and stopped doing that.


	8. Willow Farm Goes Rabid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who the fuck is leaving kudos on this? you absolute madman, who dunnit? was it you, me, he, she, x, z? who dunnit????

It was morning now, and everyone was chilling in Nick's room, because that's how it works. Syd glanced at Rick, who gave up on trying to hide his blackeye with his hair (it made him look too emo and he wasn't Roger). Must have been from the... _event_ , yesterday.  
  
"Did you at least get bandaged?"  
  
"Roger Taylor helped me out. He asked me what happened and, um... well..."  
Rick paused to think but it didn't help much.  
"I don't remember what I said."  
  
Syd just nodded, his eyelids heavy, though he doubted that bruise was from the scene now. He'd only gotten three hours of sleep and really felt it this time.  
Nick came back with a whole lot of coffee and mugs, putting it on the table.  
  
"Are you sure everything's alright?" he asked, adjusting his majestic cowboy hat.  
  
"Yeah," Rick replied, turning around and pouring coffee on the floor like this was Bee Movie.  
He noticed his mistake and poured it in the mug instead, sighing for the eightieth time and rubbing his head. Syd went "oh" and helped him clean it up while Nick went to open the door.  
  
Roger came in, saw the spilled coffee, and was slightly amused. He stifled a chuckle and cleared his throat. Back to angsty seriousness.  
"David's waiting for us with the Beatles. Queen don't look all that happy, don't ask me why."  
  
He held the door open as the three others went through it, extremely reluctantly for two thirds of them. They made their way downtown into yet another room that looked like it had ｗｉｄｅｓｐａｃｅ applied to it, with three big couches, and one big table. At least twelve full stacks of Minecraft quartz blocks had been used while building it.  
  
David was standing there, not really knowing what to do with his hands until the Floyd came in, then he stood up straight. Queen were in the couch and all gave them the same disapproving glare. The Beatles spoke up before anyone else even could.  
  
"Don't worry! We've replaced him," John cheerfully said.  
  
That sounded extremely weird coming from him. Ringo went "hue hue hue hue, yeahhh" and George muttered something about brackets as they stepped to the side. John lifted a balloon on a broomstick with a kawaii anime face, a kawaii anime flower crown, a black suit, and hair that was a cut off mop badly coloured with black marker.  
  
"I'm Faul McCartney, y'know," John said, lowering his voice and covering his mouth.  
  
Roger and Syd looked at eachother like John was crazy, because it seemed like it. However, the flower crown was an issue.  
  
The prog band mistook Faul's flower crown as the holy plant. For the prog band, holy plants mean two things: screaming and recreating Willow Farm. They enjoyed both. Simultaneously.  
  
"A FLOWER?"  
  
Syd turned around and saw Nick jump aside as Gabriel and his compatriots z o o m e d in. They halted, staring at Faul like computers calculating their available options. John Lennon, David Gilmour and Freddie Mercury did not stop Genesis.  
_'Nobody can stop Genesis,'_ Syd realized to his horror.  
  
As Peter yoinked the flower crown from Faul, John yanked it backwards, which was a fatal mistake. With the flower crown came the balloon. Faul had been decapitated. Everyone except Peter gasped.  
  
Even George and Ringo seemed afraid as a corner of John's mouth began twitching. David crossed his arms and watched.  
  
"Oh, to avoid blaspheming against our Lord, gosh darn," Gabriel said flatly.  
"Shall we leave before the events take a violent escalation?" Mike asked.  
"Yes, let us skrrt," Steve replied.  
  
John let out an enraged shriek that made Syd flinch and threw himself at Peter like a crack-addicted pitbull.  
  
"AH! OH!" said the rest of Genesis, getting into different battle stances.  
  
David beckoned Queen forward. Him and Freddie tried to pull John off while the rest of the band kept Genesis from intervening. Syd shrugged and Pink Floyd went to help, because Phil and John were being very feisty.  
  
"The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!" Gabriel screamed, trying to protect his vital arteries.  
John whipped around and unleashed his fury on David and Freddie.  
  
Syd stopped blankly staring at Tony Banks who was blankly staring at him and Brian May and they all stared at the battle.  
  
John bit down on David's arm and David screamed and tried to kick him off, while Freddie looked absolutely repulsed. Syd and Waters quickly went to help, but both were violently clawed.  
Freddie extended a hand to Diqi, who gave him a stick, and used it to prod John. Finally, David yeeted John off and Freddie jammed the stick in his mouth to keep him from biting.  
  
Syd stepped back, rubbing the reddened scratches on his arms. Gabriel stood still except for his perpetually-moving brows, flowers still in hand, his dark clothes covered in rabies froth and missing chunks.  
  
"Holy wow," all of Queen sighed.  
  
"David, you are a blessed man," Pete said before turning and leaving, calmly followed by all of Genesis.  
  
"I'm gone! All of you can go fuck yourselves!"  
John's eyes shot daggers at the Pink Floyd. Foam still bubbled at his lips and his dilated pupils didn't lie.  
"Especially you!"  
  
He stormed off.  
Syd watched him go without much emotion, and so did Rick, while Roger had clenched his hands into fists and Nick looked utterly confused.  
  
George and Ringo followed after him.  
  
"George?" David asked.  
  
Before leaving, George placed one hand on the doorframe. He turned to David with a solemn gaze.  
"We're out of biscuits, Dave."  
He then exited the room.  
  
David was quiet for a long moment, leaving the whole band tense. Queen went to sit on the couch in their respective manners again.  
  
"We've heard of what happened to Paul, thanks to Roger Taylor," David said.  
Another pause and a harsh stare.  
"Spy or not, reckless murder isn't tolerated, and you can see why."  
  
Syd sniffled once. He didn't know about the rest of the band, but he felt that they'd get sent back now, or worse, maybe, even though he tried to be slightly optimistic.  
  
"But, I won't be firing you. With the Beatles gone, it's... unaffordable."  
  
_'Oh shit oh fuck'_  
  
"You'll have to prove yourself to me, in some way or another."  
David turned to Queen.  
"Thoughts?"  
  
"I'm not a thot," Deacquee said.  
"A mission," Brian said.  
"Yes, a mission," Freddie agreed.  
"A trial," angry Taylor said angrily in an angry manner, "where there's only one survivor."  
  
"A mission. A deal, precisely," David said, looking back at Pink Floyd.  
"I have one for you just tomorrow. I'm sure Led Zeppelin will enjoy a break."  
  
"Don't Led Zeppelin and ELP get the toughest jobs?" Syd asked.  
"We've only been here for a week," Roger added.  
  
David brushed hair out of his eyes and smiled. "Exactly. Prove your worth."  
He crossed his beefy arms.  
"Queen, you're dismissed."  
  
Queen got up and left. Syd ignored the stare from Taylor and glanced at the rest of his homies in a silent 'lmao bruh' fashion. The rest of the band returned his 'lmao bruh' looks.  
  
"Before the incident, the Beatles spotted a weird apartment they thought belonged to Hendrix's gang. I recently sent Zeppelin there and before they were shot at, they spotted pretty huge quantities of coke. And we came to an agreement."  
  
"Where's the apartment and who lives in it?" Syd asked quite flatly.  
  
"Stevie Nicks, Bob Dylan, and Bob Geldof. Don't ask me how that hellish team was formed."  
  
"That sounds feasible," Nick whispered.  
  
"If you're Led Zeppelin," Roger whispered.  
  
David handed Syd a crumpled sheet.  
"Here's the address and what you'll need. Give it to Carl Palmer when you see him, he'll arrange things."  
  
"Thank you."  
Syd looked down at it and everything was written in abbreviations, except for the address: 728 Ocean Drive.  
  
"You're dismissed. Don't get in trouble," David said sternly but kindly like a nice principal.  
  
Roger with support from Nick got to questioning Syd and Rick as soon as they were out. Roger was big mad that he hadn't been told about this. Nick was just shocked. Conveniently, while walking up the stairs, they encountered ELP.  
  
"Carl!" Syd called.  
The McDonald's trio stopped talking and turned to Pink Floyd. Carl smiled.  
"David asked me to give you this."  
He gave him the sheet. While skimming through it, his smile became more and more of a forced grin. Keith winced. Greg awkwardly cleared his throat.  
"Ah, yes, okay! We're on it." Carl said.  
They continued down the stairs but silently this time.  
  
Syd continued, but like, up the stairs.  
"That didn't go so bad."  
"I have never seen a man cringe that much," Rick said.  
"You've never seen your father when he first saw you," Roger retorted.  
"Ohhhhhh," Syd and Nick said.  
Rick gracefully answered "ur mum gay."  
Roger stared. "No u."  
A look of regret flashed in Richard's eyes. Syd shook his head. "Oh, no, Rick, you've started it again–"  
"Your mum is so fat that when she sat on a Walmart the prices went down. She thought Nickelback was a refund. She..."  
This carried on till Rick covered his ears, muttering "lalalalala" under his breath, and went into his room. Syd just shook his head some more. Tomorrow was going to be one helluva day.


	9. 728 Ocean Drive

The Miami sun shone bright and hot overhead. A seagull, but not an albatross, hung motionless upon the air as it tried to fight the strong breeze.  
Pink Floyd went down Ocean Drive in their black convertible, pulling up at 728, to a building called Sunray Apartments.  
  
"Me and Rick will go in. If we're not back in ten minutes, we're in trouble, so come in," Syd told Roger and Nick.  
They nodded.  
  
Rick left his shotgun in the car, instead going with his knife alone, while Syd still had his small gun and a suitcase Carl had given him. Their weapons hidden under their clothes, they went up to find the door already open.  
  
"We were expecting you," Stevie said.  
  
Syd was wary as he walked inside, Richard beside him. She seemed overly not-aggressive.  
  
Geldof was standing beside an old TV while Dylan was on the couch, looking moderately unpleased. Stevie stepped back, sighing.  
"Get the coke, Dylan."  
Bob got up, also sighing, and walked to a drawer. He pulled out – again with the black suitcases? really? – from under it.  
  
"How did you guys become a team?" Syd asked.  
  
"Circumstances," Stevie vaguely answered.  
  
As Syd opened the money-filled suitcase, Dylan brought his own.  
  
A click went off and Syd pulled out his glock, but felt the cold tip of another gun held against his neck. He raised his hands, looking at Dylan.  
  
"You rat," Rick said to Geldof through gritted teeth.  
  
"Drop the gun. And the knife," Stevie said.  
  
Syd dropped his gun, and heard a thud as Rick dropped his knife. Stevie walked towards him. Though he couldn't see exactly what was going on, staring ahead, Syd saw Geldof crank up the TV's volume.  
  
After a small signal from Stevie, Dylan pushed him forwards and she did the same to Rick, leading them into the bathroom. Syd's eyes widened in horror when he spotted a wholeass chainsaw on the floor.  
  
Dylan made him sit down as Stevie forced Rick into the bathtub, taping his mouth shut and taping his arm to the side. She turned on the chainsaw and lifted it.  
"Tell us where David is, now, or your friend will regret it."  
  
Rick shook his head, and Syd did the same, albeit a lot less vigorously. The chainsaw was deafeningly loud.  
  
"Last chance," she said, slowly lowering it.  
  
Syd tried to come up with a random address that sounded legit.  
"Fine lmao he's at the–"  
  
A shotgun blast went off, followed by multiple gunshots. Stevie stopped the chainsaw and went outside with her gun.  Syd violently pushed Dylan away. Screams were screamed.  
Syd helped Rick up, who didn't move, in complete shock, so he ripped the tape off his mouth and he still had no reaction. They waited until Roger yelled "Come on! Outside!" then they, indeed, all went outside.  
  
Syd grabbed both suitcases before he could see what happened to their rivals. They ran out of the apartment and quickly went back into the convertible, with Nick driving this time, Roger in the front, and Syd and Rick in the back. Nick took off.  
  
"Is everyone okay?" Roger asked.  
  
"I think so," Syd answered, taking a quick look inside the suitcases.  
  
"Yes," Rick replied.  
He leaned over to see, and Syd showed him both the coke and the money. Rick raised his eyebrows and went "ohhh."  
  
Nick nodded.  
"That was a close one."  
  
  
David had a look of slight shock as Pink Floyd entered his office, Syd in the lead with his two suitcases. He pushed away sketchy piles of paperwork to make room for both, lying them in David's direction and opening them with a small snap.  
  
"Perfect," Dave said, truly impressed.  
"Any injuries or fatalities?"  
  
"I shot Geldof in the arm," Roger informed. "Nothing on our side."  
Syd nodded to confirm.  
  
David stared at the suitcases' contents again before closing both. He looked at the Floyd, but did not speak. Their plot armour was particularly effective.  
Syd looked over his shoulder when he heard Roger Taylor and Brian May loudly arguing. They entered, stopping in stunned silence when they saw the gang. Taylor huffed.  
  
"I thought they weren't sup–"  
"Shhh," Brian said, putting a hand in front of the blonde.  
"Looks like you were successful."  
  
"We were," Syd said quite flatly.  
  
"Well, I guess you have proved your worth. You get the rest of the day off," David said.  
He opened the suitcase and stood up, giving each member one of the stacks inside.  
"Here."  
  
Syd nodded in thanks and they walked out of the room. Roger counted the bills.  
"Five thousand."  
"Once we get enough, I'm buying a decent-looking car," Nick said.  
Syd stared at him. "Do you have something against the convertible?"  
"No, it's just not really mine and not that stylish."  
"When I get enough, I'm leaving this place at once," Roger growled™.  
"I'll get hookers and cocaine."  
What a Rick thing to say.  
"You can get coke anywhere here," Roger mentioned.  
Rick blankly glanced at you, the reader.  
"I don't know what I'll buy," Syd said. "We did come here for the money, but I wouldn't know what to do with so much of it."  
  
After this capitalistic discussion, they had nothing to do so it was time to get high and drive while high, because fuck the incompetent police. Unfortunately, the four dudes didn't know what chaos their fight with Stevie Nicks and the Bob duo would soon bring.


	10. Can We Get A 'How To Save A Life by The Fray' in Chat for Our Collective Son?

It was six weeks later.  
  
Stevie Nicks was not happy. Hendrix was not happy. The conflicts had escalated, and with conflicts came security, and with security came spending. No one really knew how much money was being thrown into weapons and bulletproof glass, but by how tense everyone was, it had to be a considerable amount.  
  
Pink Floyd were in that familiar office, awaiting directions. Nothing too eventful had happened to them, thank God.  
  
"Though some of us are in... incap... incapacip – I will get it. – incapacitated, the deal with Clapton still stands," David said, hands behind his back.  
"You and Genesis are going."  
  
Again, he gave Syd a folded note before sitting back down, dialing a number. The group were gone before they could hear what the call was about.  
  
"Genesis?" Roger asked, leaning forwards to read the sheet Syd unfolded.  
  
"Yes," Syd replied.  
"We're targeting three government officials this time. Apparently, Gabriel and Collins tricked them into a meeting, but we're helping since Rutherford is injured."  
  
They went over and found Genesis. Once more, they seemed. like.. mildly pleasant, and Syd couldn't tell if that was Tony's resting face or if he was just that depressed. After some unimportant conversation, they both drove off in their respective vehicles. There were bullet holes in a door of the black convertible, but it was in good shape.  
  
They pulled up at a generic-looking building. Peter lead them inside and told them to wait next to a closed room, entering with Phil. Syd glanced at the rest of the Bois, then waited patiently to pull out his gun and storm the room.  
  
That is, of fucking course, not what happened.  
  
"Metro-Dade Police, drop your weapons!"  
  
Syd furrowed his brow. That was Phil's voice. Tony let out a small squeal and Steve stormed into the room, followed by Syd and the rest of Pink Floyd. They hid behind two pieces of furniture.  
  
Syd looked at the scene from under the table. Phil had his gun drawn. Peter had his hands up, blue eyes staring blankly at Phil. He raised his eyebrows and called him a cunt. The 'government officials' raised guns too. Rick was the first to shoot, followed by everyone else involved, and Syd managed to hit a cop's shoulder.  
Roger grabbed his arm.  
"Let's go! There are more coming!"  
  
Syd could hear footsteps and yelling outside the room. There was no time. He and Roger quickly made it to the window and climbed outside, covered by the gunfire, as more officers came running inside.  
  
Syd got into the convertible and sped off, Roger barely having the time to shut the door.  
  
"We have to get backup and free them," Roger said, his emo hair majestically flowing in the wind.  
  
Syd nodded. In no time, without even asking Dave, they'd somehow gotten Mike Rutherford, who insisted to come, ELP, who were "bored", and Queen, who wanted to see what they were capable of. When asked about Led Zeppelin, Roger only shuddered.  
ELP's limousine and Queen's van followed the Floyd's car as they made it back to the building. A single police car was just turning the corner.  
  
"They've taken them already," Roger huffed.  
  
"I know where the station is- we'll pay them off like last time," Mike said.  
"Turn left."  
Syd did so.  
  
A quick drive and they arrived at the station. Everyone gathered outside behind the Queen van.  
  
"Mike and I know how to deal with this," Greg said, "so it won't take too long. Stay here."  
  
"If only two of you are going, why did you bring all of us along?" Roger asked.  
  
"A bad feeling," Carl replied.  
Greg turned and left with Mike beside him.  
  
This left two ELP dudes, all of Pink Floyd, and all of Queen to stand there and do nothing.  
  
That is, of fucking course, not what happened.  
  
Innocent citizens ran away screaming as the rattle of gunfire rang out. Syd ducked and ran to the convertible for cover, followed by Floyd Roger, and everyone went into their respective bulletproof vehicles.  
A shooutout in broad daylight, right outside of a police station? Was this a setup?  
Syd raised his head and caught a glimpse of a large car and a van speeding off. Yes and Stevie's team - of course.  
"Wow," Waters muttered.  
  
"The cowards, a fucking drive-by, really?" Carl exclaimed when he stepped outside.  
"Cowards," Taylor agreed.  
"Obviously, they're idiots, there's police everywhere," Freddie said.  
Brian and Deekee stayed inside, and so did Keith.  
  
They collectively turned towards the station. As though nothing had happened, Greg and Mike came walking down the stairs with Rick, Nick, and most of Genesis.  
"We heard it all," Mike said.  
"No injuries?" Greg asked.  
"We got very lucky," Freddie replied, shaking his head.  
"We better hurry before they come back," Carl said before getting into the limousine, Greg following.  
  
Syd smiled at Nick and Rick, who looked quite displeased, to say the least. Only Nick smiled back. They got into the convertible, Syd driving again, and followed Queen and were followed by ELP. Roger had his handgun loaded and ready to fire throughout the ride. They got home.  
  
You should know by now that it is obviously not what happened.  
  
While on the causeway, gunshots rang out again. Pink Floyd bent down.  
Queen were being flanked by an expensive car, windows rolled down just enough to allow the barrel of guns. Queen did the same and defended themselves quite well.  
  
ELP were being harassed by the van and the large car, on each side. Syd slowed down. He was barely able to see the road from this angle.  
"Get them! Get them," he called to the rest of the band.  
Rick took his shotgun and hit the van's windshield before ducking again, bullets flying above him, Nick and Roger doing the same.  
"It's the Stones!" Roger spat.  
"Yes are in the other car," Nick said.  
The van almost lost control and ELP quickly drove off. They switched lanes and stayed beside the Floyd.  
  
It wasn't long before Yes caught up, the large car riddled with holes and smoking from the hood. They were assaulted with machine gun fire from ELP, but didn't give up. Syd focused on staying in one lane, and the rest of the Floyd focused on the Stones.  
Queen were basically racing with the others, far ahead up the road.  
  
A loud blast went off and with a piercing screech, ELP's limo swerved and lost speed. They z o o m e d onto an exit, towards the sea, it was strangely empty. Again- Yes didn't leave them alone. They had major beef.  
  
Syd turned around and drove after them, and so did the Rolling Stones' van. A well-aimed shot from Nick was all it took to send the van away for good.  
  
Cars came down the other side of the causeway, but not theirs. This part was closed.  
ELP were dangerously unsteady, their blown up tire sending them zigzagging. They still shot at Yes' car when it tried to ram into them.  
  
The Floyd came from behind.  
"Syd, get beside them," Rick said through gritted teeth.  
  
Syd floored the gas pedal and went beside the van, everyone ducking the best they could. Rick stood up and, as retribution, fired at their tire. They were above water, now, and the bridge's fences did not seem optimal.  
  
The worst possible scenario happened: destabilized, a car went crashing into the side of a struggling limousine and they both, in turn, went crashing into the fence. The car sped off as fast as possible while the limousine was left there, Close To The Edge.  
  
Gasping, Syd stopped the car. He went outside and turned to face the rest of his group.  
Nick was cringing in a 'fuckin hell' fashion, and left too.  
Rick was shook, clutching his hair, and Roger patted his shoulder once before they all ran/jogged/the highest possible GTA walking speed to the limousine. It was flipped on its side, and the bent, broken fence below was the only thing keeping it from falling.  
  
Keith was partway out the door, holding the fence in one hand and either Greg or Carl in the other. He looked up.  
"Syd-"  
He didn't finish, tensing up and tightly squeezing the metal when the limousine trembled. The vehicle slipped a tiny bit further down, and Keith almost lost his balance, but did not.  
Rick and Nick noticed the fence was beginning to fall apart and held it together. Syd extended a hand, Roger holding him back just in case. Instead of taking it, Keith looked back into the limousine, then scowled a bit but didn't argue, and then Syd and Roger helped him.  
  
"Thank you," he said quickly before turning around. "Greg?"  
"I'll slip Carl through, then pull me out," Greg replied, sounding... some level of calm.   
"Hurry."  
Keith moved past Syd and reached out to the Homeboys. Syd did the same, and with the help of the other dudes, soon they were both out of the limousine.  
"Whew! That was a close one. ... We can't lose that much worth of guns."  
"No- Leave the guns there, Carl," Greg barked but that did nothing and he went back inside.  
"Fucking Christ," Greg said under his breath before leaning forwards, ready to help Carl out. Keith stayed beside him.  
The Pink Floyd stepped back and waited.  
  
"Here," Carl said, giving Keith a whole lotta guns.  
Greg urged him on by basically staring into his soul. Carl jumped up to grab his hand, but the limousine moved an inch away again. He fell back down. Keith quickly went back, but it was too late.  
  
"Jump!" Greg called.  
  
Carl did, but missed again, because it was slipping again.  
  
Syd didn't hear what was said over the horrible creak, and then the limousine fell off and into the water with a crashing splash.  
  
Both Syd and Roger forcefully pulled Greg back, which was a bit tough because the guy was pretty strong, while Keith just stood in silent shock.  
Queen's van pulled up slowly, like they knew what had happened, and when they stepped out, they didn't say a word.  
  
Syd and Roger loosened their grip on Greg and he immediately pushed them away (not too harshly) and ran back to Keith's side. He'd been staring at the water. So now they both stared for a while.  
"Carl! CARL!"  
  
Roger looked at Syd, and Syd looked back, his eyes wide and his dark hair greasy with sweat. Nick was more solemn than Syd had ever seen him be before and Rick had one hand against the side of his face, his gaze darting.  
  
It didn't take that long for Keith and Greg to realize he wouldn't resurface, and Syd just watched the horizon until they walked to Queen's van, staring ahead.  
  
Again, Queen didn't say a word, maybe they knew the way to deal with destroyed grief-stricken guys. Pink Floyd were silent too as they got back into the convertible, driving off after Queen and two thirds of ELP.


	11. That's A Whole Week In One Chapter

They went back to the huge ass mansion. Not a single word was said (but the night did not hide any fears). Syd stayed close to the rest of Pink Floyd. He heard someone curse under his breath and looked over, seeing Nick stare at his bloodstained fingertips before returning Syd's glance.  
"Is that yours?" he whispered.  
"Yes, but it's not too bad. Rick seems hurt, too."  
"I'm not," Rick mumbled.  
Syd was pretty sure he was lying, but didn't push it.  
  
They made it up the stairs and past the doors. David stood there, leaning against the wall with crossed arms.  
"Genesis told me there had been conflict."  
  
Queen continued walking, Freddie only lowering his head. Greg and Keith stopped, and were silent, and so were everyone else. Syd quietly spoke up.  
"The Rolling Stones, Yes, and Stevie Nicks were onto us. Erm..."  
  
"We crashed. Carl drowned," Greg said, his tone cool and a bit snappy, but his voice broke a little when saying his name.  
  
David's calm appearance pretty much crumbled, his eyebrows raised high as his arms slowly fell to his sides.  
"How... How did that happen?"  
  
"The limousine fell over a bridge," Keith answered, not looking at him. It seemed he was still in shock, but Syd noticed his eyes were puffy, so that wouldn't last long.  
  
Greg's shoulders were tensing.  
"I had him. I had him right there, I don't know how he slipped."  
He recollected himself and looked almost aggressive, but turned and left without saying anything else. Keith followed.  
  
David scratched his nose, taking a deep breath, and looked at Pink Floyd. His low tone betrayed his discouragement.  
"Hang in there, boys."  
How weirdly American. With that, he hurriedly walked away, and the gang made it back to their rooms.  
  
Syd stopped Nick before he could walk in.  
"You're not gonna get that checked out?"  
"No, I just cut my arm on some metal, the bleeding's stopped by now. Gauze and ice will do."  
They both turned as Roger opened the door.  
"Enjoy lockjaw," he joked before disappearing inside again.  
The Seinfeld theme could be distantly heard as Nick and Syd just grinned and shook their heads "ohh, Roger, youuu! youuu" before going to do their respective activities.  
  
  
  
  
Syd was Legit Awoken by a soft voice and someone gently shaking his shoulder instead of the gunshots he feared.  
  
"Syd. Syd. Hello..."  
  
He sat up with a yawn, blinking tightly to clear his vision.  
"Morning. What is it, again?"  
  
Rick stepped back, looking at the door while brushing his hair for once. He'd grown it out a bit.  
"We have an easy one today. We're following Led Zeppelin, but only as backup, so if all goes well we'll stay in the car."  
He looked around, seeing a whole lot of various painting materials next to two blank canvasses leaning against the wall. He frowned and naturally began putting them in neat order. Syd huffed, smiling a bit.  
  
"I can clean my room just fine, mum," he joked.  
  
"Hm? Yes," Richard said, still carefully placing three paintbrushes in an empty glass on the nightstand before returning outside.  
  
Syd quickly got dressed, deciding against the Hawaiian shirts this time, and joined the rest of the guys in the hallway.  
  
"I'm still stunned with how well-organized this is," Roger said, contemplating their part of the borderline-hotel mansion before heading for the stairs.  
  
"I know. It's a shame things went as bad as they did, it's taken a toll on everyone lately," Nick added.  
  
Though they weren't in a terrible mood, the atmosphere downstairs was much different than usual, a gloomy cloud over their heads.  
  
Keith and Greg were understandably nowhere to be seen, and neither was David, though Genesis were chilling on a pair of newly placed couches. Syd spotted Robert Plant talking to Jimmy Page thanks to their hair and walked over.  
  
"Good morning," he politely greeted, nodding.  
  
Jimmy became quiet while Robert turned towards Syd with a calm demeanor.  
"Morning."  
  
"We're ready to go anytime you choose."  
  
Robert shoved his hair back.  
"Good."  
He smiled at Page.  
"Anyway, get the AR, will you?"  
"I'll get Bonzo while I'm there. Jonesy should come over any minute," Jimmy informed in his dark edgy tone before leaving.  
  
Though Robert's presence was borderline regal as usual, Syd could see his forehead was creased and he had dark circles under his eyes. Looking at the rest of his group, he saw that Roger also did, while Richard looked like he'd stayed awake all night. Nick was right, it had taken a toll on everyone.  
  
The day was uneventful, which was a much-needed break. Led Zeppelin did start arguing as soon as the job was done. When they drove back home, Syd overheard that it was something Jimmy had done, and went they went back home, Keith was getting his hand bandaged by a mildly concerned Peter while Greg stormed off.  
  
  
  
On Wednesday, Syd had to wake Roger up from a nap because Peter wanted to see him for some reason he wouldn't disclose. Roger didn't disclose it either when he came back. For five seconds. Turns out Peter just showed him basic first-aid.  
  
Syd and Rick then left to take care of a judge who'd wronged Clapton's partners in the past, faking a crash by messing with the engine. His wife was in the car.  
"Did he have children?" Richard asked on the way back, sighing for the ninetieth time.  
Syd shrugged. It did nothing to help their consciences.  
  
  
  
  
On Thursday, John Deacon disappeared out of nowhere and the rest of Queen were so annoyed that they didn't even go look for him.  
  
  
  
  
Friday came, and Pink Floyd were quickly sent to help ELP when they were cornered by Yes again. While Syd and Nick were in a brawl with a much more well-armed Christopher, everyone stopped as Keith held Jon hostage for a bit. He would've shot him if it wasn't for Rick Wakeman, and Greg did absolutely nothing to stop that, just watching darkly. When they all came back home and got their injuries at least somewhat treated, the Mood™ felt very very tense.  
  
  
  
  
Saturday, D-K came back and everyone was very much relieved/not annoyed anymore. Greg and Keith apparently had an actual fight that Tony Banks and Mike Rutherford had to somehow break, so Greg stormed off again, according to Nick. After telling the story, he rightfully went on about how losing Carl was a bummer and handed Syd a little tambourine the man himself had gifted him. There was even a small 'Palmer' written on it.  
  
"How did you get to know everyone so fast?" Syd asked.  
  
Nick smiled. "Natural charisma."  
It's a drummer thing, it seems.  
  
In the evening, Syd went out for a smoke just in time for Led Zeppelin to come back with a beaten-up Greg.  
  
"Downtown at the wrong place, at the wrong time," Robert explained. "Hendrix has men everywhere."  
  
David was basically pulling out his hair when he walked away. After his cigarette, Syd surprisingly saw Lake lying on the couch, reading something.  
He remembered the tambourine and went to get it, then came back, offering it to Greg, who didn't notice. He'd cleaned the blood off his face, but his lip was pretty much busted and swollen, and he had lacerations everywhere. Syd tried to sound as kind as possible.   
  
"I thought you'd like to have it."  
  
Greg looked up, slowly took the tambourine and examined it. Syd honestly didn't know what to expect.  
  
"Thank you... How'd you get it?" he said with the unintentional slur of someone who got the shit beat out of them, but also the total flatness of someone who was exhausted physically and emotionally.  
  
"He gave it to my friend Nick, and Nick gave it to me."  
Syd didn't wait for a response as he smiled, but nothing in his body language showed disrespect - quite the contrary, in fact.  
"Feel better soon, Mr. Lake."  
And he went back upstairs.


	12. "That Shit Really Did Do Hurted Ow Ouch" - Greg, Probably

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god can't help you now

Greg was back in the limousine, feeling a presence beside him but unable to move, slowly sinking. His ears were filled to the brim and he held his breath until his chest ached. Somehow reflexes stayed consistent. His throat would c o n v u l s e, letting water in, and he'd choke seemingly forever, the instinctive panic and helplessness unbearable.  
  
There would be a giggle and a light squeeze on his upper arm, shoving him a little.  
"Don't pass out yet!"  
The voice was muffled and distorted underwater. Carl leaned over and at that moment, Greg stopped struggling. His bright, hopeful smile was all too familiar, until it faded, the faintest trace of concern in his sparkling brown eyes.  
"We're almost there, Greg."  
  
Finally, he'd wake up, gasping because he'd been without oxygen this whole time. It never felt like a dream until it was over.  
  
Six times out of the last seven days - he hadn't even counted, it just stuck, suffering through the same thing and waking up to more of the same, but worse. The boiling anger had melted into a heavy pile of 'I don't feel like it' constantly sitting atop his stomach.  
He had gradually stopped trying to calm Keith and just let him pump whoever deserved it full of lead. Whenever he had to intervene, their arguments would get violent half the time.  
It wasn't like David would confront them about it. It scared off the kids who'd seen Scarface eight times and thought coke was easy and profitable. Good enough.  
  
He turned on the lamp and laid back with a ragged sigh, running his oversized hands through his hair. His eyes burned when he rubbed them, since no amount of sleep felt like rest.  
  
The bruises hurt, he still felt the blow to the jaw that stunned him, then the kicks and the punches he took behind that club. By his height and personality, it had to be Chris Squire. He just couldn't recall. It didn't matter at all.  
After tripping him and shoving him away when other guys came to see what was going on, he stumbled to the nearest payphone and called the first number he remembered, his face and ribs numb with pain. He hadn't lost a fistfight so badly in his entire life.  
Can we get a Chasing Cars in the chat?  
  
Though he thought of the same thing over and over and it somehow managed to taste rotten and sour inside his own head, he didn't stop thinking of it, either. For almost a decade, he'd helped David with this, dreamed of this, meticulously planned this and what did they get now?  
  
Started off as a little neighbourhood hustle in London, back with Robert Fripp, just to put some food on the table back home. Grew into a huge thing, then an American thing with some ridiculous amount of luck. David did the calls and always knew who to call, Greg did the deals, Robert did the threats, Keith did the discarding, Carl basically did the PR and kept the cops off their backs. That's one way to put it: a nice homegrown business.  
  
Then came the smaller dealers, Led Zeppelin first. The money rolled in overnight. By some miracle, their undying loyalty kept them all together, determined to "live fast and die young" as they would jokingly and drunkenly preach. Unlike the memories themselves, nostalgia had a sweet taste.  
  
Maybe lying there, eyes fixed to the ceiling, and brooding like an edgelord at three in the morning was a bad idea.  
  
That "live fast and die young" attitude never truly disappeared, but the undying loyalty, it might have been starting to waver.  
  
_'It's not wavering. This was inevitable, we all knew one of us would have to go, and we're in this until we die.'_  
  
Unfamiliar guilt flooded him as he referred to Carl as just "one of us". It worsened and radiated like a stab wound, rising in his throat and pushing everything else closer to the surface. Oh no. Chills. He rolled onto his side.  
  
Everytime he tried to convince himself, it felt callous and harsh, but that part was still truthful: the loyalty was there to stay.  
  
Robert ran off to join Hendrix when they were in debt, and he stood by David, he stood by David even when later he had to rip that blonde bastard Wakeman off of Keith and beat him up himself in that apartment.  
When they took in this dorky bunch with hidden potential, shipped them over and let them form Genesis, he supported David.  
When Queen fled the streets directly into their doors with their... unique but very efficient ways, he held the doors open with David.  
And when the Beatles directly approached them, David, Carl, Robert Plant and him were those who let them in, which was their only true mistake thus far.  
  
He sat on the edge of his bed, but didn't stand, staring blankly at the floor. The grief he tried to shove down had a weirdass physical weight.  
  
The door slowly opened. Keith. Greg lifted his head, almost snarling at him.  
"What do you want?"  
  
Keith was Not Angerie™, and was almost fully dressed, having gone to bed that way for some godforsaken reason.  
"I can't sleep. I heard the news."  
  
Greg could suddenly hear the white noise of ventilation. He patted the free space beside him anyway, feeling like he couldn't kick him out at this time, and he spoke through a sigh.  
"Here."  
  
Keith did so, his eyes tired and sunken, a colourful bruise on his cheek and small cuts on his forehead, his stubble unkempt, his expression dull and his knuckles bloody. A portrait he already knew. When Greg defended him for the first time, he had almost the exact same look afterwards.  
He began to think of something to say, and flinched a little when Keith grabbed his shoulder. He then shoved his face in his bare chest like one would in a comforting mother figure's tiddies and started crying.  
  
Greg stared.  
"Shh. Stop," he tried to soothe, patting him on the back, but it didn't do anything at all.  
  
He did the most sensible thing and hugged him right below the arms, feeling Keith's shoulders shake with every sob as he wrapped his arms around Greg. This was someone who'd almost killed him but also almost died for him, and who he also almost died for, to put it in the most cliché way possible.  
He held a bit tighter and Keith grew quieter. It fully occured to him how stupid the fighting was, how he'd stood idly by while it went on, and how broken they were without Carl. More than before, his absence stung.  
  
"I don't think this can go on," Greg murmured.  
What did he even mean by this? Was he just trying to fill the awkward lack of conversation?  
In response, Keith shook his head, trying to get himself back under control.  
  
Greg felt it rising back up until it spilled out at once. " _Why_ did I let him go?"  
  
Keith glanced up at him, his cheeks still wet.  
"He slipped- the car slipped. You didn't let him go," he replied in his shakiest but by far most comforting voice yet. He pulled back, avoiding eye contact.  
  
Greg reached up to cover his face.  
"He'd still be here if I-"  
  
Keith slapped his hand away.  
"Quit saying that, for Christ's sake."  
He inhaled sharply, the despair readable in his soft blue eyes, before they grew cold again.  
"I didn't know you could give yourself responsibility for anything negative."  
  
"Fuck you," Greg muttered, the words slicing through him like they were very much meant to, but shouldn't have.  
All that and he didn't tell Keith to leave. He couldn't. They both said nothing for a moment.  
Greg vainly tried to fight back the lump in his throat. He felt sick, like there was a brewing storm caught inside him.  
  
Keith broke the silence.  
"Sorry."  
  
Greg glanced at him and saw compassion, realizing he was probably letting more emotion slip through than he wanted. Keith might've been stubborn, but he knew when to apologize, so Greg tried not to be stubborn either.  
"Me too. I'm sorry for everything."  
  
Keith quietly acknowledged that, still sniffling. He shook his head, lowering his gaze, and stated what Greg already knew.  
  
"I miss him."  
  
"Me too, Keith."  
  
He bent forwards and rested his elbow on his knee, putting his hand above his eyes to cover them. It was highkey uncomfortable, but he could feel that damn storm rising, until the mask slipped and he broke into tears. Keith slowly rubbed his back.  
That shit hurted. He was completely vulnerable and a deep sense of shame and embarrassment showered him, but that shit hurted, man. It really did do hurted.


	13. Why Do You Look Like You've Witnessed Another Murder, Richard

Syd woke up at a nonsensical hour for some unexplainable reason. He looked at the clock and it was 5 AM for some unexplainable reason. So okay. When you live in crime-filled dystopia full of melodrama for like 300$ a week, painting is a healthy way of coping with that instead of being an alcoholic or ironically a cokehead.  
  
To his surprise, a small knock came on the door, so obviously he got up and answered with his katana in hand. It was Rick. He did not flinch at the sight of a deadly weapon being lifted at him.  
  
Leaving the door open, Syd raised his caterpillar eyebrows and put the katana back.  
"Can't sleep?"  
He took a quick look through the blinds.  
  
Richard gave one of his slight forced smiles as he stepped in. "I don't want to."  
  
Syd nodded, absentmindedly watching the first few streaks of dawn™. His hands stuffed in his pockets, Richard soon joined him. It was quite clear he'd knocked thoughtlessly without expecting a response - an odd thing for him to do, of all people - and so his hair was all messy and his shirt open down to his chest, but Syd didn't care, so he didn't mention it.  
  
"Do you- oh,"  
He started buttoning his shirt.  
"Do you still think this is a good idea?"  
  
Syd shrugged.  
"I don't know. We did promise we would stay, I suppose, and it would damage them if we left."  
  
Rick rubbed the back of his neck.  
"Yeah."  
  
"Why aren't you sleeping?"  
  
"No reason. Why aren't you sleeping?"  
  
"I just woke up," Syd answered.  
He Narrowed His Eyes (say the line, terrible fanfiction!).  
"You're acting strangely."  
  
Rick half-chuckled.  
"The hell is that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Don't take it personal-"  
  
"I'm not."  
  
Syd i n h a l e d.  
"Yes, well I feel the stakes are gonna get even higher, and someone will eventually snap," he calmly predicted. "I don't want it to be any of us."  
  
"... I won't be the one to snap- I don't think any of us will, really. It's more like everyone else who's the real danger."  
Seems legit. He furrowed his brow, then interrupted Syd before he could answer.  
"That's not what I meant- I'm not paranoid."  
  
"I believe you," Syd said.  
  
He went back to watching the sunrise, and Richard did so too, but he gradually looked away until he was staring at the door. A strong gust of wind made the roof crackle and he jumped, then pulled out a cigarette.  
  
"Do you mind if-"  
  
"Of course not."  
  
Syd took one from behind his ear and held it in his mouth while Rick lit it. The Energy Vibe Aura of the room held gloomy undertones, and while he was fiddling with the dodgy lighter, Syd took a good look at his homie for a few seconds. He'd never noticed the fresh scar across his left eyebrow. How edgy.  
  
"Wanna go for a drive?" Rick said.  
  
Syd considered this for a brief instant. Then he started cleaning up the overly expensive art materials he had. Like bro, it's a ridiculously small amount of a damn pigment, why is it 3649546 dollars.  
"Fuck it why not lol."  
  
Rick brought his shotgun for good measure. They both went downstairs - the whole house was quiet, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee still lingered, why the fuck does no one ever drink tea here 🤔 - and stopped in front of the convertible in their giant oversized garage that should probably have been established much earlier.  
  
"Who drives?"  
  
Rick yeeted a coin into the air. He caught it and covered it with his hand.  
"You're heads."  
He uncovered it. Tails.  
  
Richard drove. Alphaville's Forever Young provided some background noise as both men tried to think of a conversation topic, and for some unexplainable reason, Syd found himself humming along to a song he didn't even like. He was surprised when he realized and even more surprised when he heard Richard quietly join him. This lasted about seven seconds.  
  
"It's not like this is Tainted Love," Syd pointed out, smiling.  
  
Richard smiled, also. He went through the stations until he stopped.  
  
Syd stared at him.  
  
He kept his eyes on the road, but had the same feeling.  
  
_Tainted Love._  
  
"Don't touch me please"  
"I CANNOT STAND"  
"T H E W A Y Y O U _T E A S E_ "  
  
They quickly returned to seriousness, clearing their throats and awkwardly adjusting their collars, and agreed to go wherever the road would take them. The traffic wasn't too bad, luckily and unrealistically. The late April weather wasn't too uncomfortable - luckily, too. Ooooh what a lucky man he was y'know.  
  
"Such a nice day. I hope nothing bad happens."  
  
"You're being awfully optimistic."  
  
Not replying, Syd looked out the window and watched as they entered a more crowded part of the city.  
  
Rick got distracted, but quickly went back to driving before he could, like, kill somebody.  
"Do you have any money?"  
  
Syd shook his head.  
"No one does."  
  
Rick chuckled very softly, but didn't seem too amused.  
"Right."  
  
Quiet driving with talks that aren't worth noting went on for a while until they ended up in a residential neighborhood that couldn't be qualified as good-looking. Seemed like getting lost (or robbed) wasn't a concern.  
  
Syd wasn't paying attention, lost in thought, then was violently pushed forwards when Richard slammed the brakes. The screech of rubber against asphalt rang out.  
  
"What the fuck, Richard?"  
  
Rick was silent, clutching the wheel. His lips were slightly parted, but he said nothing, then he swallowed with difficulty.  
"In broad daylight, they found us."  
  
Before them stood the Beatles' colourful bus, smoke pouring from the tires like in a dramatic anime reveal, blocking the way.  
  
John spoke through a megaphone in a comically overdramatic villain voice.  
"We've been WATCHING, you  _c u n t s_. There's no escape this time."  
  
Syd grabbed Rick's shotgun and pumped it.  
"Drive," he whispered.  
  
Rick took off. Syd aimed while they nyoomed past the bus, bullets flying towards them, but because this is fic no one got shot. He hit one of their mirrors. Screams rang out around the scene as people fled. Syd tried to keep his balance while Rick did a chaotic u-turn.  
  
Yellow sparks from machine gun fire followed them. Syd sat back down when they made it further down the street, being a lot faster than the bus, when a blast went off and Rick suddenly lost control of the car.  
Syd let go of the shotgun and grabbed the edges of his seat instead.  
  
It all happened extremely fast. Like a Miami Vice chase scene, they did a full spin before crashing sideways into a pole. By some 1% chance they did not get fatally injured.  
  
No words were exchanged, Rick just grabbed the shotgun, opened the door and they both took cover behind their convertible. The gunfire wouldn't stop. The window was shattered and bits of broken glass showered them.  
His mind racing, Syd audibly cursed when he heard police sirens in the distance. He looked at Rick and pointed towards the nearest building.  
"You go there. I'll distract them."  
  
Richard shoved his shotgun into Syd's hands.  
"Don't be late."  
  
Syd peeked over the car as soon as the shooting ceased. Staying low, Rick went behind the building while Syd blasted three of the bus' windows. He ducked when the gunfire carried on.  
  
"You can't hide forever!" Lennon taunted.  
  
All of this was absolutely disgusting and unnecessary, but he needed to get them to leave.  
"Then come out and fight!" Syd yelled in the same tone.  
  
He reloaded the shotgun, then quickly looked up again. John had left the bus, followed by George and Ringo. Ringo had a handgun.  
Syd hadn't realized how livid John was, but now he could see the Anger™.  
  
"We're waiting."  
  
His gun raised, Syd stood up and faced the Beatles trio.  
  
"Me and you. One on one. What do you think of that?" John suggested.  
  
"Okay."  
Syd walked towards them. He didn't lower his guard or weapon.  
"If you fire, I fire, and that would be regrettable."  
  
In the bus' shadow, he caught a glimpse of something shimmering, then the silhouette seemed all too familiar.  
_'Richard.'_  
  
"Ringo, drop the gun," John said.  
Ringo did so. Syd lowered his.  
  
And then Rick jumped out of nowhere and held a large shard of glass against Ringo's neck, facing the two others. John put a hand in front of an alarmed George to keep him from making a move.  
  
"The murderer himself came out to play," John snarled, apparently getting all his lines from a low-budget 80s anime.  
He pulled out a switchblade and looked at Syd.  
"Too bad the roles are flipped, this time."  
  
Rick didn't move.  
  
"This is so pointless," George groaned.  
  
"I know. What a shame," Ringo said, looking more annoyed than anything.  
  
Syd stayed calm as he looked at the two Richards, then at John and George, and then pumped the shotgun. He could trust Rick to get out of this himself.  
"Do whatever you think is fair," he said to all four.  
  
John screeched and threw himself at Rick in his rabid uncalculated way. Rick pushed Ringo at him. While they fell down at impact, he ran to Syd, tossing the shard of glass away. George had gone into the bus.  
  
Syd couldn't help but smile at Rick in a 'bro, you made it lol' way before they both ran to their damaged car. The police turned the corner right as they drove off, John chasing after them and waving his fist.  
"We'll get you!"  
  
Syd sighed, trying to dodge the traffic to get home quickly. He hid the shotgun in the back, and at a red light, looked at Rick.  
  
"That was incredible."  
He immediately stopped laughing when he saw blood everywhere. For an instant, this was terrifying and his veins f r o z e.  
"Rick?"  
  
Rick shook his head.  
"It's not mine."  
  
Syd went back to driving, soon recognizing where they were. He didn't need to pay that much attention to the road so he glanced at the homie again.  
  
"Then who?"  
  
Rick was white as a sheet save for the blood splattered all over his clothes. He was calm to the point of being emotionless.  
"I'd rather not talk about it."  
  
"You look like you've witnessed a murder, for Christ's sake."  
It might sound aggressive in text form but Syd spoke calmly, too.  
  
Rick was quiet for a bit, then his gaze hardened.  
"I don't want to talk about it."  
To break the tension, he chuckled once, but he seemed on edge so Syd left it at that.  
  
"Okay."  
  
Either he had witnessed a murder, or he had committed one, Syd couldn't tell. Darn, Richard, why were you so skilled at hiding all traces of shock when you wanted to.  
  
They parked in the oversized garage, as one does. Greg and Keith were talking in front of a brand new beefy car, but they stopped when they saw the damaged convertible.  
  
Syd didn't need to be asked to answer while Rick silently went back into the oversized house.  
"A little confrontation with the Beatles."  
  
Greg went "hmm", looking dull as he often did these days, while Keith studied the convertible with an unreadable stare. He walked over to the car and looked underneath, then reached for something. He stood back up and showed Syd a weird gadget thingy.  
  
"A tracking device," he explained.  
"Yes have gotten us once, and now the Beatles did it to you. They must have allies in the military. It's the only way they could consistently get all this."  
  
Syd blinked, then nodded, and all he said was "Oh." but he understood far more. As in: watch closely and pay close attention to what you see, for real. Keith seemed to notice, as he flung the device away in a swift, fluid movement and went back to Greg's side.  
  
Syd walked into the house to be greeted by Gabriel and his angels.  
"Roger and Nick kept asking for you, apparently David needs you."  
  
Syd accepted the situation as is, because Genesis were chill.  
"Okay, thank you."  
  
Steve chimed in.  
"Mike went after Rick because Rick wanted nothing to do with us. He'll be fine, everyone loves Mike. Mike is good."  
  
Tony spoke.  
"Everyone loves Mike."  
  
Peter finalized.  
"Yes, Mike is good."  
  
Syd found this lowkey funny and/or mildly endearing. He left to find Rog and Nicc and also found Ricc, who had thankfully changed, engaging in an animated conversation with them.  
  
"Syd!" Roger exclaimed.  
  
"Is Mike good?" Syd asked.  
  
"I- Mike is very good," Rick answered, not having expected that question.  
  
Syd nodded.  
"Everyone loves Mike!"  
  
"Everyone loves Mike," Rick agreed.  
  
"Can you please give us a rational explanation because Rick is saying nonsense about how you fought the Beatles," Roger cut in.  
  
"He's right," Syd replied.  
  
Nick looked up at the ceiling because he only had one line in this whole entire chapter.  
"Wright. I get it."  
  
"Ahahaha. Ha." Rick sighed for the hundredth time.  
  
"There they are! Pink Floyd."  
  
Everyone faced their lord, Dave Gilmore, standing proud. His loyal compatriots, Greg Lake and Keith Emerson, were next to him, hands behind their backs.  
  
"You've only been here for like five seconds, but have proved yourselves to be extremely skilled and capable. Led Zeppelin is going through a rough time, so I'd like you to accompany these guys."  
  
Syd wondered how he came up with those speeches. Oh, he was reading from a script again.  
  
Greg spoke next.  
"It's a basic job: we're loading coke onto a boat for a thousand each, which is the best you can get. It's only dangerous because of the high tensions lately. Tuesday, at 10 PM."  
  
"Agreed?" Keith asked.

What could possibly go wrong?  
  
Syd figured that if the Boys didn't wanna go, they'd interrupt, but he still exchanged looks with the squad for the effect alone. Then he acquiesced.  
"We'd be glad to work with you."  
  
"Radical," Keith and Greg said, though there was visibly something missing.  
  
As suddenly as they showed up, they walked away and Syd heard David's melodious voice.  
"Are Queen still on that spying mission?..."  
  
A spying mission. Sounds cool.  
  
"So you fought the Beatles?" Roger continued.  
  
The long explanation will be spared, but basically all that's important from it is that they joked about getting another Buick, but now it is not a joke. They'll get their Buick Estate wagon.


	14. Aphrodite's Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bro i forgot about this story for a while, my god i reread it and it's so, so out there??? like CHILL @ me 3 weeks ago  
> might as well finish it goddamn

Tuesday had come.  
  
Nick didn't need to convince anyone to follow him, spectacularly, while he lead them into the garage. There, he patted the roof of a shiny Buick estate wagon. Its glossy wooden panels and black-tinted bulletproof windows contained the beauty of a thousand sunsets.   
"WOW!" everyone except Nick screamed in perfect synchronization.  
  
"What shall be our child's name?" he questioned as everyone admired the mighty chariot he had blessed them with.  
  
"Aphrodite," Roger said breathlessly, caressing the hood.  
  
"You are a god among men, Nicholas," Rick said, getting down on one knee and folding his hands. Tears seemed to shimmer at the corners of his beautiful cerulean eyes.  
  
Nick smiled, tipping his hat.  
"You haven't seen the interior."  
  
He opened the door and showed them the fanciest of leather seats, a wonderfully essential car phone, then explained more things such as how dangerous the amount of turbos on that thing made it.  
  
"epic" Syd finally commented.  
  
"How did you pay for all that?" Roger asked.  
  
"I have my ways."  
  
Roger lifted his invisible eyebrows, Rick looked skeptical, and Syd did this: 🤔.  
  
"HELLO!"  
  
Everyone was startled.  
  
Keith smacked his hand against his forehead.  
"Why'd you do that, you giant idiot?"  
  
Greg laughed but not really then he abruptly stopped.  
"Shut it."  
He cleared his throat and looked at the mildly amused Floyd dudes. He managed to radiate confidence while lifting his hands and adjusting the cuffs of his triangle-patterned blood red suit.  
"Since you're here, you're ready to go?"  
  
"The weapons," Nick said.  
  
"We'll get the weapons," Roger said.  
  
So they went and got the weapons. Syd had both a katana and a gun now. This was excessive.  
  
"Do you think it'll go smoothly?" Nick asked while they went back in the garage.  
  
"Absolutely not," Syd, Rick and Roger answered.  
  
"Ah," Nick said.  
  
ELP had moved their beefy car of unspecified type (who here knows the breeds of car?) next to the Buick. Everyone got in except Roger, who talked to his fellow tall scary man.  
  
"How did you get a wagon with all those mods?" Greg asked in disbelief, as though he was new to Minecraft, but no he was just stunned because the Buick had the same pointlessness as a modified Civic but worse.  
  
Roger shrugged.  
"Nick is one of those cryptic guys that can summon whatever, whenever and have this powerful aura of approachability," he explained.  
  
Greg looked at Keith, who just scratched his nose, then he looked back at Roger.  
"I mean, that's a normal drummer thing, unless you're Mike Rutherford."  
  
Roger furrowed his brow, but before he could question what that meant Nick yoinked him into the car.  
  
  
The night was warm and clear. You could see every star in the galaxy, which meant around five plus a few planes, thanks to light pollution.  
They'd parked at a harbour and were now moving in and out (nice) of an undersized boat, slickly replacing marked containers with unmarked ones. How could that tiny thing carry that much weight? It was legit??? Roger and Keith were guarding by the cars because they made 'a team straight out of hell' as Greg had coined. Both Keith and Roger had been offended by this.  
  
Syd was lifting one of the unnecessarily heavy containers to put them in the trunk of ELP's ride like they had been doing. He walked to the car to do that when violent high-beam headlights blinded him. Then came the shooting.  
  
He jumped behind the car and both Keith and Roger followed, already firing back.  
  
"How did they find us again?" Syd asked, taking out his gun.  
  
"Why is it always Yes," Roger asked as he reloaded.  
  
Keith was Very Big Mad.  
  
Before they could even aim, the Enemy Vehicle drove off. Everyone got into their Respective Vehicles at lightning speed.  
  
Nick rightfully predicted what was going to happen.  
"That didn't last long, so they'll come back in a bit."  
  
They came back in a bit. As if they didn't have enough car chases, the three gangs nyoomed into nighttime Miami. Nick was, of course, skilled at not getting into crashes.  
  
Since ELP weren't defending themselves and seemed to be luring Yes away, the Floyd also didn't defend themselves. So ELP stopped near an abandoned motel and ran inside. Odd choice. They probably knew the place.  
  
Most of Yes followed while two of them stayed back to shoot aimlessly at the indestructible estate wagon.  
  
"Can you don't?" Syd yelled, sticking his head out the window.  
  
"We can don't," Chris yelled back as he stopped firing.  
The poodle-like guy my friends won't stop bullying, aka Bill Bruford, seemed to not be enjoying this at all. He stopped firing anyway.  
  
Syd stepped out of the car.  
Nick, Rick, and Roger cheered before stepping out of the car. Chris and Broof stepped out of the car. Angry gun noises came from inside the sketchy building.  
  
"I'm Chris. That's Bill," Mr Tall Man called.  
  
"I'm Syd. That's Roger, Nick and Rick."  
  
"Nice to meet our enemies."  
  
"We should probably help out our respective friends," Roger called.  
  
"Yes," Chris called.  
  
"Get it. Because we're named Yes. It's funny," Broof called.  
  
All of Pink Floyd grinned and shook their heads.  
"Ohhhh, youuuu, Chriiis! Youuuu!"  
  
"The rules are that to avoid cheating, we can only kill eachother when we find our friends," Roger called.  
  
"Okay. Good luck," Chris and Broof called.  
  
They peacefully entered the building and went up the stairs to find their gangs, following the sound of gunfire. It stopped when they entered the hallway, then resumed they entered their respective rooms. The carpet was straight up nasty.  
  
"Finally!" Greg said.  
"This was getting boring."  
  
"What's the plan?" Rick asked, his shotgun semi-raised to look extra epic.  
  
"Plan?" Keith asked like that was a foreign concept.  
To go with the beefy car, he now had a beefy flamethrower.  
  
Greg looked at him, then at The Boys, then outside. He went "hmm."  
While speaking, he kept shooting at Yes with his infinite ammo.  
"We should split up, go back downstairs and take them on from each side."  
  
"Sounds feasible," Keith replied.  
He figuratively split Pink Floyd in half with a hand motion.  
"Roger and Nick, you're with Greg, Syd and Rick, you're with me. We'll go out the window to surprise them downstairs."  
  
Rick and Syd were completely unfazed by this.  
"K."  
They joined Keith in ninja-style climbing out the window, then going back inside. Most of the disorganized furniture was flipped. Perfect layout for taking cover.  
  
Everyone hid behind the reception desk with their guns drawn, like evil secretaries.  
  
Gunshots went off upstairs, followed by a scream.  
"NICK!"  
  
Syd grabbed his weeb sword and Rick jumped up. Keith disapproved.  
"No, no no no. Stay down. Listen closely."  
Rick sighed for the hundred-and-tenth time.  
  
Yes came running down the stairs and barged into the hall, but after the staircase's door closed, it didn't open again. Greg screamed "FUCK" from behind it.  
  
Keith sighed extremely loudly.  
"major L but we still gotta do this i guess"

  
All three of them jumped up and yeeted 6425466 bullets at Yes. Yes retaliated. Greg screamed "FUCK" a second time.  
  
They hid behind the desk again, dramatically rolling over and basically huddling as bullet holes pierced the wood.  
Shells spilled out of Rick's pocket and he shakily grabbed them to reload the shotgun. Syd had no more ammo. He hadn't expected that this would end in a billionth confrontation. This was so sad.  
  
Keith stretched his arm over the desk and fired a few times. He ducked again.  
  
Syd looked around, magically spared from the bullets, and noticed a few couches covered in dusty white sheets further in the back. Must have been some kind of lounge.  
"There," he said.  
  
Rick took Keith's place and the sound of him pumping the shotgun then shooting it made some weird rhythm.  
  
Keith nodded. "Go, I'll cover."  
  
Syd was about to leave, but Rick wouldn't move. The empty shells chimed when they fell.  
  
"Will you stop?" he asked.  
  
Rick did not stop.  
  
Keith whacked him on the arm.  
  
Rick did stop and followed Syd wherever they were going, which happened to be behind a couch. Keith joined them. Everything fell silent except for the ringing in their ears.  
  
"Thirty seconds and it's over," Jon yelled in his beautiful, but in this context, unpleasant voice. Cherish being able to understand his words; it is a rare event.  
  
"What do you want? Come out and kill us yourselves," Keith yelled back.  
  
"That's boring," Rick (no, not that Rick, Wakeman Rick) yelled.  
  
"No, you!" Keith yelled.  
  
"You're wasting your time!"  
  
Richard's eyes widened about as much as humanely possible.  
Syd scanned what was in reach, but there was nothing useful, even when he double-checked his pockets. The thought of making a run for it crossed his mind. It was a stupid thought.  
  
"We're stuck," Rick grunted.  
"One shell left."  
  
Keith looked at his flamethrower, then his eyes lit up as he spotted something. He grabbed a gasoline container from a pile of rubbish. Convenience!  
"I have an idea."  
  
"Twenty seconds!..."  
  
Keith stabbed a hole through the top of the sealed container. He grabbed two of his knives and gave one to both of them, then looked at Syd.  
  
"This one... to Greg. He'll know," Keith said, pulling out a dagger from inside his jacket.  
  
The handle was lined in black velvet, and embroidered with golden patterns, for some reason. Its blade shone white.  
"When I get behind that desk, this place will blow up and that's when you escape."  
  
"You're not coming back?" Rick asked.  
  
A light smirk flashed on Keith's face.  
"I'll try."  
  
He stood up and held out his arms, stepping back with the gas container in hand. His wide stance was more confident than ever.  
"You want a piece of me? Huh? Get over here, ya fucken' bitches!"  
  
Keith sprinted to the side, a trail of bulletholes in the wall behind him, and a trail of gasoline on the ground. He jumped and rolled over the covered desk, and this was their cue. Syd and Rick bolted towards the door. A huge line of fire erupted out of seemingly nowhere.  
  
"Chris, watch out!"  
"boi-"  
"AAAAAA"  
  
Richard pretty much destroyed the handle and slipped outside. At the door, Syd looked behind him. Bill had time to leave. Keith sprang out right in front of Steve, who looked at the camera.  
  
His vengeful rage could be felt from afar. Bright flickering lights against his black leather, he blocked the entrance, flamethrower raised. A blast sent the rest of the Yesmen stumbling back and when they shot at him, Keith was gone. The fire only spread.  
  
"Syd," Rick muttered, hitting his arm.  
  
They ran up a low hill that was most likely artificial. Rick tripped, but stayed down, looking over his shoulder. Syd stopped and looked too, panting.  
  
Columns of smoke poured out and darkened the night sky, a bright orange glow in the windows, and the asphyxiating smell almost made both of them choke. Rick rested his head in the grass, just lying there, while Syd watched the raging fire. He turned to see Greg casually walking towards them.  
  
"Roger and Nick are in the car, they're-"  
He went pale when he noticed the motel. Clenching his hands into fists, he looked back at the two, fiery gleams in his eyes.  
"Is he in there?"  
  
Rick stood up.  
  
"He told us to give you this," Syd replied, handing Greg the dagger.  
  
After realizing what it was, he stared at the weirdly patterned knife for a second, then looked back up and continued down the hill.  
  
"Greg," Syd called, getting up, but Rick pulled him back by the sleeve.  
"We can't just watch!" Syd protested.  
  
Rick had trouble articulating before just spitting out the words.  
"Don't be long."  
  
"Will not."  
  
Richard looked unconvinced, but ran up the hill, and Syd ran down towards the motel.  
  
He forced his way back in, taking out his new dagger and looking around for anybody. His throat burned and he couldn't help but cough, jumping as a wooden structure collapsed into flames.  
"Greg! Keith?" he yelled.  
  
The scorching heat was unbearable and his lungs would constrict with every breath. Tears streamed from his stinging eyes and soon his vision was unreliable.  
He thought he heard something, then heard it a bit louder. Someone was trying to call out his name.  
He ran towards the sound, whipping around when he heard footsteps only to face a disheveled Richard. His trusted shotgun in his arms, Rick gestured towards a spot that wasn't _flaming_ and they made their way over.  
  
Greg was lying partially under a broken table that had caught fire. He had one arm wrapped around an unconscious Keith, who was lying partially on top of him. Syd bent down and put Greg's free arm around his shoulder.  
"Come on," he said, trying to help him up.  
  
Greg tried, but fell back down, grunting. He kicked the pieces of burning table off of him.  
Another beam fell into an explosion of flames.  
  
Rick flinched.  
"Quick, before it collapses," he said, trying to help Syd help Greg up.  
  
Greg held Keith tighter then lifted him up like a knight rescuing his damsel in distress as he stumbled back to his feet, not without a lot of under-his-breath swearing. An entire side of the building fell while they quickly made it out of the motel.  
  
Nick was in the driver's seat while Roger waited outside, helping everyone into their gorgeous Aphrodite. They sped off before all the doors could even be closed, the motel collapsing behind them. A red inferno. Lord knows where Yes were now.  
The terrain was bumpy and irregular before they made it back on the road.  
  
"You're not hurt, Nick?" Syd asked.  
  
"No. Did you think it was possible?"  
  
"I had my doubts."  
  
Nick drove, Roger was passenger and giving those behind him bottles of water, Rick and Syd were at the back and trying to breathe, Greg and Keith were further back. Syd thanked Roger and turned around.  
  
"Is he breathing?"  
  
"Just barely," Greg answered before breaking into a harsh fit of coughing. Rick handed him water and he showered Keith in it.  
"Might help him cool down."  
  
He watched Keith for a second, his face red and glistening with sweat, then threw his head back against the window in exhaustion. Syd turned back around. He just felt drowsy. Very, very drowsy.  
  
They all sat in silence until Rick asked a single question.  
"Are you alright?"  
  
Syd didn't have the energy to look, and immediately shut down the part of him that went _'bruh. what now?'_. Roger gave a box of tissues to Rick who gave them to Greg. There was a short pause, then he heard Greg shifting a little.  
  
"Oh, fuck's sake," Greg muttered.  
  
Syd swiveled his head around, which took an unreasonable amount of strength.  
Taking this incredibly well, Greg glanced warily at him before trying to handle more than one bullet wound to the chest, blood pooling around him and rendering the (now soaked) tissues completely useless.  
  
"Goodness," Syd sighed, his eyes widening slightly as he looked away.  
  
"Nick, we've gotta get to a hospital, this is insane," Rick said.  
  
Greg's low voice was strained with pain, but also pretty much growling.  
" _No_."  
  
"On it," Nick replied, chill as he ever was.  
  
"God damn it all to hell..."  
  
Syd could barely imagine the level of pure anger and salt Greg must have been radiating. He shared a relieved look with the entire group when they heard Keith hoarsely say something unintelligible.  
  
Greg was happy for a millisecond.  
"Keith! Keith, you absolute  _bastard_ \- What is it?"  
  
This was followed by a weak murmur, horrible coughing, a loud sigh and then something else.  
  
Next thing he knew, Syd was being woken up by an unpleased-looking Roger. Nick did the explaining.  
  
"Greg and Keith had like 5 HP, so Rick went with them. He didn't want to wake you up, and Roger and I agreed it would be better if all three of us explained this to David."  
  
"Okay."  
Syd looked at the roof.  
"He won't be happy."  
He got out of the car.


	15. Page Goes Wack Then Greg Uses Some Cheat Code To Make A Speech

David blinked slowly as Roger, Nick and Syd finished the explanation. He i n h a l e d, rested his chin in his hand and took it rather calmly.  
  
"That's unfortunate."  
  
"Big F," Roger agreed.  
  
"F of a considerable size," David sighed.  
"Do you mind replacing them?"  
  
Syd did this: 🤔 but internally while Roger was not thrilled.  
"What does that imply?"  
  
David, again, just blinked.  
"I give you their to-do list while they're stuck in a hospital room, you do the job and it goes back to normal when they're well enough."  
  
"Yes but what is the job?"  
  
"Mostly kills."  
That's a very casual way of putting it.  
  
Roger was a bit stunned.  
"And you expect them to pull through and go back to that kind of work, as if nothing happened, after one was shot three times and both were trapped in fire?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Rick ended up fine," Syd mentioned.  
  
"Well you weren't trapped in fire," Roger argued.  
  
"Why are we arguing," Nick said.  
  
"Because that's what we do," Roger answered.  
  
This went on. In the end, David won (+1 for our favourite greek statue) and everyone went to not-sleep.  
  
Right now would be a good time to mention that everyone's rooms literally just had the layout of your average motel's. Not too cheap, not too fancy, but decent.  
  
The phone rang at 4:38 AM. He picked up and heard the low voice that would make any male-attracted person fall to their knees.  
  
"Greg? How are you conscious? How do you know my number?"  
  
"I got shot in the lung, not in the throat, Syd."  
  
Syd was unaffected by his sarcastic tone.  
"This is physically impossible."  
  
Greg's voice softened. More like unharshened.  
"You're not wrong. Well..."  
He cleared his throat.  
"I'm doing fine, I haven't heard from Keith yet, Rick left and never came back."  
  
_'how'_  
"I see," Syd replied, squinting and unintentionally mimicking Superintendent Chalmers.  
"Do I tell David?"  
  
"If you wake him at four in the morning, he won't listen."  
By the way he laughed very slightly, Greg had probably done that before.  
  
"Why call me?"  
  
"You're easy."  
Greg sigh-inhaled as though he just remembered which story he was in.  
"Right, did he give you something to do for the week?"  
  
"Oh. He did. Do you expect to be out in a week?"  
  
"Less than a week. Y'know, stealth isn't Queen's strong point, and I'd rather not force Genesis into, y'know, that kind of work."  
  
The inner Roger came out.  
"Honestly, you aren't too stealthy either, having seen the way you blow up people."  
  
"But we are good at what we do, and so are you, I've got to admit. You're the best I've seen in a long time. Very efficient..."  
He trailed off.  
  
"Greg?"  
  
There was a pause, and Syd heard faint high-pitched beeping in the background.  
"Ah, fuck. I'll call you back," he mumbled, annoyed.  
  
As Phil Collins would have said, oh lord.  
  
Literally nothing happened the following day.  
Freddie came back with this fluffy cat and nobody disliked that, so now there was a cat freely roaming around the Hotel California-like mansion. Hopefully nobody will try to stab it with their steely knives.  
  
At an hour they didn't even bother to check, everyone (except Nick) was Awoken™ by loud banging followed by a word our Christian audience should not hear.  
_is sleep not a concept_  
Roger opened the door and immediately closed it while Syd helped Rick up... but this moment only called for one word. _Bruh._  
  
"How did this happen? How did you get up the stairs?" he said, though his response was slurred to the point of being incomprehensible. My dad wishes he could be this.  
  
Rick collapsed in his bed where he immediately passed out. Syd went back, skeptical. It was impossible for a man of this type to get that drunk. Had he been drugged or something.   
  
Anyway, it didn't really matter, because he was fine and everyone was pretty much fine when they were sent for their first high-ranked mission in the afternoon. It ended up being fairly easy because of their progamer skill.  
  
Greg called the following day, furious at the prospect that he had to "stay in this shithole for no valid reason", but Keith was stable so that was cool.  
  
"Why that old motel?" Syd asked.  
  
"It could've been any other place," Greg vaguely answered.  
  
The boredom lasted an unspecified amount of time - smh why couldn't they throw cool parties like the other gangs? - before Syd overheard David talking to Robert.  
  
"That's like, half of downtown, man. This is terrible. Terrible news."  
  
The golden-haired deity was unpleased as well.  
"The Doors are resilient, Dave."  
  
"For fuck's sake, now I'll have to pay The Police to get rid of the police, as if being spied on by everyone wasn't enough."  
He didn't even sound angry when he said that.  
  
Syd sneaked away because he had heard too much already.  
  
The boredom continued.  
Stealthily knocking out or brutally threatening someone before stealing back illicit substances and/or cash from them was very boring.  
  
If ELP was kind of pathetic with Carl gone (this _does not apply to Cozy Powell_ , we love Cozy Powell in this household), it was even worse when they were all gone. Instead of being chill, the remaining Genesis dudes were slightly afraid of Pink Floyd now. Imagine being able to scare _Genesis_ on any level.  
Finally, something interesting happened: David sent them with Led Zeppelin.   
Everyone squirmed uncomfortably on some level. Jimmy's dangerous antics were well-known.  
  
Instead of getting in the van like last time, they took the Buick to follow them. Syd drove after a fair game of coin flip.  
  
Led Zeppelin ended up stopping, a lot earlier than intended, on the side of the road near the beach. Palm trees grew from a stretch of grass.  
This was perplexing, but Pink Floyd followed and parked the Buick right behind them. It wasn't soon before all members of Led Zeppelin stood outside, yelling and arguing.  
Other cars zoomed past the band on the verge of beating the shit out of eachother.  
  
Reluctantly, the Floyd boys™ went to interrupt the fight - the lunatics are on the grass - when Jimmy Page pulled a pistol out of his jacket and lifted it, aiming at everyone around. Oh lord.  
  
Everyone stopped moving and raised their hands.  
  
"Page, are you insane?" Roger said when the gun was pointed at him.  
  
The sheet of paper didn't answer and turned around, his focus switching between all his bandmates.  
"This has gone on for too long, far too long."  
  
"What are you saying now," Jonesy groaned.  
  
Jimmy stepped towards him, the gun's muzzle inches away from his chest. Jonesy jolted. He curled his lip.  
"You won't shoot me."  
  
"I'll shoot anyone."  
  
"Can you not yell in the street?" Robert asked, equally as exasperated.  
  
Bonzo moved to grab his pistol before Jimmy could kill somebody. A gunshot went off and Jimmy almost decked him. Soon enough, both Roger and Robert were restraining Jimmy from behind. He still didn't drop his pistol.  
  
"Goodness," Bonzo e x h a l e d, his chaotic energy corrupting the glitching air around him.  
How could he casually ignore this much nonsense?  
  
Roger was trying to hold Jimmy. Syd and him looked at eachother for an instant.  
"He's crazy," Roger mouthed, eyes wide.  
"I love how nobody cares we're fighting on the side of the road," Syd pointed out.  
  
Robert began.  
"You better stop-"  
  
Another loud blast went off and now it was Rick and Syd who were catching Robert from falling while Jonesy and Bonzo restrained Page, tossing the pistol on the road to get crushed. Nick opened the van's door and they helped a shocked (and shot) Robert inside.  
Everyone involved kept their composure remarkably well, but were utterly flabbergasted inside.  
  
Ignoring the passing cars, all of Led Zeppelin went back into their van and drove off. Aphrodite rolled after them.  
  
"That was unpleasant," Nick stated.  
  
The van did a u-turn and headed back home.  
  
Rick sighed for the one-hundred-and-twentieth time.  
"I guess the mission's scrapped, whatever it was."  
  
There was a pause.  
  
"Let's not do that," Roger said.  
  
"Let's not," Syd jokingly agreed like that was the most obvious thing he'd ever heard, because it was.  
  
"What do you mean?" Rick asked.  
  
"Well, of course let's not shoot eachother," Nick replied, laughing through the pain.  
  
Roger was dead serious.  
"No, let's never allow ourselves to go that far. No matter what happens, we stick together. We'll fight and all, of course, but we don't keep secrets and there are no hard feelings. It's the only way we'll last in this hellhole. Is that understandable?"  
  
"That's awfully grim of you, but sure, Roger. Everyone agrees?" Syd asked.  
  
"Yeah, okay."  
  
"Sure."  
  
Roger shook his head, smiling a little.  
"You're all taking this as a joke."  
  
Nick sat up straight and placed a hand on his chest. He rolled his r's with a great deal of emphasis.  
"I solemnly swear not to abandon Pink Floyd in times of trouble, no matter how dire, and never shall I ever betray my dear comrades."  
  
Rick wheezed.  
  
Syd nodded.  
"That's the spirit."  
  
"Well, you two, your turn," Roger said.  
  
"Do I need to reaffirm my loyalty?" Syd asked with a smile.  
  
Roger gave in.  
"You get a pass."  
  
Rick looked up like he was trying to recite something he'd learned by heart in front of an entire class.  
"I solemnly swear not to, um, abandon Pink Floyd in times of trouble, no matter how... um, difficult, and ... and never shall I betray my..."  
He stopped.   
  
"My dear comrades," Nick finished.  
  
"My dear comrades!" Rick finished.  
  
Wow. Anyway they came back home and helped Robert in, only for Genesis to determine he needed an actual doctor. He'd been shot in the thigh.  
  
David forced 3/4ths of Led Zeppelin into his office, telling the Floyd to wait there, while Nick volunteered to drive Robert to that dreaded hospital.  
  
Peter sighed. Steve looked :discomfort:.  
  
"He does have insurance," Mike consoled.  
  
That softened the blow a little I guess.  
  
By the time Led Zeppelin stepped out of the office, not looking too happy, Nick had returned. David looked at Pink Floyd.  
"Hey, you. Come in."  
  
They went inside but didn't sit, even though there were chairs. David didn't even go back behind his desk.  
  
"So, you've been doing well," David began.  
"And with Led Zeppelin in shambles, I'm promoting you again. You're now... the main hoes. Are you all fine with that?"  
  
After having witnessed two groups get torn apart, no, they absolutely weren't, but who else would take that spot? They went with it. Even if he was exhausted, David's angelic eyes lit up.  
  
"That's set, then. Work starts tomorrow."  
  
"And what's work, this time?" Syd quickly asked, perhaps in a more polite way than Roger would have.  
  
"Most of those you hunt down will be fellow drug dealers, government officials, y'know those kinds of people. You'll need to be sneaky. Call Greg if you need any real examples."  
  
No one said anything for a few seconds, so before it got too awkward Syd nodded and left. Pink Floyd followed. This was an absolute bruh.  
  
Later on, when the sun had almost set and the mansion Basked in the Evening Gloom™ with its dimmed lights, Syd heard a knock at his door. He opened it and- oh my god  
  
"I forgot to call you back," Greg greeted, casually doing it to 'em.  
He looked like the previous chapter was a complete lie.  
  
Better not ask.  
"That's fine."  
Syd let him in and did say what was going on. This resulted in a brief silence from Greg before he asked a dark question in an equally dark way.  
  
"Are you afraid of dying?"  
  
"Hm."  
  
"Don't look at me like that, I didn't write the script."  
He got back into character, moving a bit so he was somewhat hidden in the shadows, and his voice deepened even more with his horror-movie-tier tone.  
"Yes... you wanted examples of what happens if it goes wrong... I have two main ones."  
  
Syd gasped.  
"What's the worst you've seen?"  
  
Greg made this chuckle-like noise.  
"You're nice, so I'll tell you."  
  
Syd felt privileged to speak to Greg in the uber rare unnatural situation where he was willing to talk.  
  
"We'd been sent to kill this, um, what was he? An ambassador? Out of town. It was at a small conference... We were supposed to poison him, but that didn't work out. So I shot him. Silencer on. It didn't matter, we'd been spotted already. Carl and I locked every door while Keith went and started a fire, then we drove off."  
  
"...Gosh."  
He'd omitted a lot of details, which might've been good.  
"And what was the second story?"  
  
"You sure you wanna hear it?"  
  
"I'd just like to know what we're getting into."  
  
Greg paused for quite a bit as his expression went serious, perhaps to make a dramatic effect, but Syd said nothing until he spoke again.  
  
"It was a couple years back. Bob Fripp used to work with us, this was days after he left. Keith and I shared a flat while Carl was overseas trying to recruit Genesis off in... well, I don't remember, anyway, we got raided by Yes."  
He gave a sinister grin.  
"Things never change! But their group was different then... They had these other cats Tony Kaye and Peter Banks. I never saw Banks again after throwing him out the window, but it didn't kill him."  
  
Syd mentally went 'record skip, freeze frame' at the window part.  
"You and David have a very casual way of bringing those things up."  
  
"After a while in the business, you've seen it all."  
It do be like that.  
"I was wrestling Chris Squire and... Keith fought Jon for a while, then I almost got knifed and all-"  
He sounded amused.  
"I don't know how we made it. It happened again and again later on with their current members before we could finally afford to move. I think that was the worst thing we ever went through. You can't ever feel safe after that."  
  
Then he sounded amusedn't.  
  
"Watch out for the Beatles. Men are more dangerous than both the police and every other rival gang when they're driven by revenge. That's what I came here to tell you."  
  
"Wow."  
Syd was maybe a tiny fraction of what could be considered stunned by now.  
"How did you stay together through all of that?"  
  
"There's still a brotherhood, there's trust between us. As soon as that link breaks, the group breaks - just look at Led Zeppelin."  
He looked away, suddenly going back to being sulky.  
"Well, alright, I hope that answered your questions."  
  
"...I have many other questions, but thank you, Greg. Good evening."  
  
"Night."  
He opened the door, then turned around and widened his usually narrowed eyes at Syd.  
"Watch out. I am not kidding."  
He closed the door behind him.


End file.
